


Mental Uptown

by lemoon77



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Did I mention fluff?, Doctor-Patient AU, Failed Attempts at Humour, Fluff, Frerard, Happy Ending, M/M, More Fluff, Oral Sex, Past Drug Addiction, not fic?, past alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7570465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoon77/pseuds/lemoon77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A psychologist!Frank and patient!Gerard AU, in which they bond over mutual dorkiness and several breaches of the doctor-patient relationship code of conduct ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. – more than meets the eye (or: everyone loves Batman)

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who decides to give this a go: just for the record, I should probably mention that this is the first fanfiction I've ever uploaded anywhere (all the others are hidden on my computer and will hopefully never see the light of day) and that I'm not a native speaker, so I guess there will be some grammatical errors, not to mention the typos I don't really have an excuse for!
> 
> For those of you who are still brave enough to proceed - enjoy! ;)
> 
>  
> 
> – dedicated to 
> 
> my personal Sweet Pea (well, a less hairy version without bad breath anyway) for being the most amazing co-fangirl I could wish for, my favourite early morning company, and a constant source of motivation, inspiration, and thereʼs probably a third word that rhymes with these two to describe how mind-blowingly awesome you are, but I just canʼt think of it right now!
> 
> and my favourite weirdo, whom I not only have to thank for providing the odd working title that I decided to stick with, and reading this fluffy mess of a fanfiction despite not even being into fanfiction and still giving the most amazing feedback ever, aaand picking up on each and every little inside joke I hid in it, but also for getting me into My Chemical Romance in the first place!
> 
> thank you.

“Dr. Iero?”, Jamiaʼs head popped up in the door frame, cheeky grin only adding to her mock-serious tone, acting like the two of them hadnʼt known each other since sheʼd still been in pigtails and he had stomped on her sandcastles when he thought she wasnʼt looking. Frank rolled his eyes.  
“Yes, Ms. Nestor?”, he replied in an equally pretentious manner, letting his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he put down the patient file he had been buried in.  
“Thereʼs another patient...”, she gave him a sympathetic smile. Frank took a look at his watch – fuck, past seven already, heʼd been here for more than ten hours. Sighing heavily, he shot her an exasperated glance.  
Jamia just shrugged apologetically, although they both knew it wasnʼt her fault he was such a workaholic and his patients seemed to have picked up on that.  
“Says his nameʼs Way?”, she offered as a way of explanation, hoping the name meant more to him than it did to her. It _did_.  
Frank had been waiting for this.  
“Let him in...”, he waved his hand in what he hoped to be a decisive manner – not that there had _been_ much of a decision anyway and Jamia knew him too well to let herself be fooled. Saying no to a patient wasnʼt considered one of his strengths, let alone saying no to one of his friendsʼ older brother.  
  
  
Soon after sheʼd nodded briskly and disappeared from his field of view, a young man stepped into his office tentatively.  
Frank quickly ran his eyes up and down his crouched form and took in his black, unwashed hair, the long bangs falling like a curtain in front of his face, obscuring most of it from view, except for his freakishly red lips. He caught himself staring, belatedly realizing that the guy was biting down on his lower lip so hard it had to draw blood.  
Moving his gaze lower, Frank had to suppress an approving grin at his crumpled Misfits band shirt – huh, Mikeyʼs brother indeed – but he didnʼt fail to notice the worn out jeans, sprinkled with dirt at the bottom, or the shoes that dared to fall apart any moment. Neither did he miss the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, repeatedly running his hands through his hair. Everything about this boy – no, this _man_ , Frank corrected himself as he knew he had to be older than Frank despite his admittedly rather boyish appearance – screamed that heʼd rather be somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else.  
There was something intriguing about him, though, Frank had to admit, the way he licked his lips and ran his hands through his greasy hair one more time, not quite managing to push it out of his face, before he started to speak up.  
  
  
“Hi, uh, Iʼm Gerard. Gerard Way, Mikeyʼs brother?”, he smiled at Frank shyly and he couldnʼt help but smile back.  
“I think Mikey told you I might be... stopping by? Well, to be honest, he kind of dragged me here and heʼs waiting in the car and he just might have threatened to kill me if I left your office without making an appointment, but – shit, man, you look tired, I can go! I mean, not _bad_ tired or anything! You still look, uh, great, obviously, just... tired, you know? Iʼm sorry, Iʼm babbling. I do that when Iʼm nervous. Sometimes. More like all the time. Anyway, I should probably go now, itʼs really late...”, Gerard stopped for about a nanosecond to catch his breath, giving Frank no chance to interrupt, before rambling on.  
“No, seriously, man, I donʼt wanna waste your time. Thereʼs a Batman movie marathon at the theater anyway and thatʼs where I should be, really, if it wasnʼt for Mikey, that motherfucker – not that youʼd care, ʼbout Batman, I mean. Or, you know, me. Just... I can go...”, he finished, staring at Frank frantically, ready to bolt.  
This time Frank couldnʼt bite back his grin. This Gerard guy was fucking _adorable_. There was no other way of putting it.  
Also, who the hell didnʼt care about Batman? Yeah, granted, he might look like a yuppie in his stuffy office, white coat, pretentious glasses and shit, but he wasnʼt _that_ much of a douche. Duh.  
Not that he voiced any of those thoughts aloud – his awesome taste in movies didnʼt prevent him from being a professional when it was required of him and from what Mikey had told him, his brother was in dire need of help.  
Also, judging from his violent shaking... hell, this guy was a mess, he didnʼt need a degree in psychology to be able to figure _that_ out.  
Still, weird as it might sound, Frank was kind of relieved – he had feared that Mikeyʼs brother would be as tight-lipped as he remembered his friend to be, but this one?  
Hell, he was an open book. Easy. Frank was sure of it.  
He bit back a smug smile – _so_ not appropriate, he reminded the not quite so sensitive part of his brain that seemed to take control over his mouth a lot more often than it should lately, offering an encouraging nod instead.  
“Take a seat, Mr. Way.”  
  
  
-  
  
  
When Gerard let himself fall into the passengerʼs seat of their wreck of a car with a quiet huff, Mikey silently offered him a cigarette before lighting his own and turning the key in the ignition. He stole a glance at his brother, waiting for him to say something, to explain, to finally _fucking_ give him a reason for hope.  
Because lately, there hadnʼt been much to go on.  
Gerard just stared out of the window blankly, though, as Mikey pulled onto the street, radio turned down low, almost completely drowned out by the gurgling sounds of the engine. They should really get it checked, he noted dully. Like, yesterday.  
  
  
“I, uh, I made an appointment...”, Gerard announced after a while, taking a long drag of his cigarette and still avoiding to look at his brother – he knew Mikey was relieved, he could tell from the way he heard him let out a breath he probably hadnʼt even realized he was holding, from the way he saw his brotherʼs shoulders slump slightly in the corner of his eye. But he also knew Mikey would be hopeful.  
And Gerard couldnʼt deal with that right now. It would only make things so much harder when heʼd disappoint him, again. When Mikey would have to come pick him up from the floors of shady bars in the middle of the night, or worse, drag him out of the beds of even shadier men. Theyʼd been there so often already, both of them had lost count by now.  
It was always the same, but at the same time always worse with every passing night, with every time he broke his promises.  
Mikey taking care of him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear all night, helping him throw up whatever it was he had taken, when most of the time he couldnʼt even remember anymore, and telling him that heʼd always be there for him, no matter what.  
But Gerard knew that even Mikey wouldnʼt put up with him, with this, forever – couldnʼt, really. Everyone had a breaking point. He just wondered when heʼd reach his.  
Yeah, even Mikey would leave, eventually. They all did. And who was he to blame them?  
“Iʼm not giving up on you, you know...”, Mikey whispered lowly, as though reading Gerardʼs thoughts. His hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel, his bony fingers pale against the black leather, knuckles white.  
“Not now and not any time soon, okay?”, he spit out through gritted teeth and it didnʼt take a mind-reader to hear the unspoken _not ever_ in between the lines.  
At that, his brother couldnʼt help but laugh and shake his head fondly.  
“I mean it!”, Mikey went on, this time a little louder, a little more firmly – and also sounding a lot more desperate than he was usually letting on.  
“I know, Mikes... thanks...”, Gerard replied shakily, still not trusting himself with looking into his brotherʼs eyes, although he knew heʼd find none of the anger, the disgust, the disdain there, that he was met with when looking into a mirror.  
  
  
“So, how did you, uh, like him?”, Mikey asked with a slightly lighter tone and a weak smile after a few minutes of driving in silence, but the bags under his eyes betrayed the strain these past months had put on him, and Gerard had to bite his lip not to wince as he realized once more what heʼd been doing not only to himself, but also to his baby brother. The one _he_ was supposed to look out for, not the other way around.  
“Your doctor friend? Uh, he wasnʼt quite what I expected him to be, honestly...”, Gerard started tentatively, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.  
“I mean, in a way he was. He looked like, well, an ordinary doctor in his humdrum office, with his humdrum clothes and fuck, even with all those hideous paintings everywhere that are probably supposed to make you feel calm and at ease but actually make you feel anything but and people call that art, seriously, what the fuck and... yeah, you know the deal – just, I was kinda surprised, since you told me he was different, somehow, so, I donʼt know?”, this time Gerard turned to watch his brotherʼs reaction as Mikey started chuckling. Yeah, this sounded so much more like his brother, being all quiet and thoughtful didnʼt suit him at all – ironically, not even at his worst.  
“He is, Gee...”, Mikey offered him a smile – a quirk of the lips, really, but Gerard knew his little brother better than anyone and for Mikey Way this was pretty much the equivalent of beaming at someone, alright, so Gerard grinned back.  
“Is he, now?”, he raised one eyebrow skeptically, not quite sure what to make of that but definitely curious.  
Mikey might be desperate for help, but he knew the younger man wouldnʼt have sent him to Dr. Frank Iero if there wasnʼt something special about him, especially if Mikeyʼs secretive smile was anything to go by. Motherfucker.  
So far, the only ‛specialʼ thing Gerard had noticed was the shockingly hideous turtleneck the guy had been wearing – because, seriously, a _turtleneck_?  
He was about to mention his shrinkʼs off-putting fashion sense, hypocritical as that might have sounded, coming from Gerard Way, but Mikey was still smiling his knowing smile.  
“Youʼll see...”, he said.  
  


* * *

**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
** \- drug addiction  
  
_session #0 2008/11/13_  
  
Older brother of Mikey (fucking) Way, but so far not really alike (as in: talks – like, a lot, apparently especially when he's nervous).  
Good taste in music and movies, bad taste in hygiene products. Or complete lack thereof, honestly. Further investigation required. Fidgety and self-conscious. Issues with his physical appearance (just for the record: so not justified).  
Afraid of being a burden, possibly a projection of the guilt he feels towards his brother (?)  
Speaking of which, not here of his own accord (likely reason: dislike of uptight, haughty shrinks with pretentious glasses and shit a.k.a. me).  
Mission #1: well, drug addiction basically says it all.  
Mission #2: convince him that even uptight, haughty shrinks with pretentious glasses do care about Batman!

* * *

  
  
Frank smiled to himself as he closed the folder and leaned back into his chair, stripping off his gloves, stretching his back and rolling his neck until he could hear the joints pop back into place.  
So what if his patient files were a little, letʼs say, unconventional? He knew damn well he was good at what he was doing, and this was part of the reason why. This was what he could work with, wanted to work with, and what he needed to properly treat his patients.  
Sometimes, the details mattered – and not the medical ones. And sometimes, although he couldnʼt explain, they were what kept _him_ sane.  
So, in case anyone besides Jamia ever wanted to take a look at his work, he still had all the necessary formal bullshit tucked away in one of the drawers in his office. Or, at least, he was pretty sure it was... around. Had to be. Somewhere.


	2. – high school is a bitch (or: I donʼt wanna grow up)

“So... Mikey recommended you...”, Gerard shrugged after sitting down awkwardly, hands folded in his lap, obviously searching for something to say to break the silence.   
His fingers were intertwined and pressed down into his thighs to hide the telltale shaking, but it was really hard to miss. Adjusting his glasses, Frank tried to take a closer look at the rest of his appearance as subtly as possible.  
  
  
He still didnʼt look much better than he had a week ago – if anything, his hair, still sticking to his forehead with sweat, had become even more greasy, although Frank would have sworn that that wasnʼt even humanly possible, and something about Gerardʼs appearance told him that there were only two things that prevented this man from sporting the full-on hobo look: one, he was living with his brother who would force him to change his shirt once in a while because he had to endure the smell and two, Gerard Way probably didnʼt need to shave all that often anyway. Or, at all.  
“Is that the reason youʼre here?”, Frank inquired gently, putting down his clipboard to ease his patientʼs nervousness. He had long since discovered that people tended to get suspicious of him once they noticed the clipboard – as though the possibility of him writing down whatever they said or did was making their conversations more significant, real, somehow. Something they couldnʼt take back.  
Actually, the most important notes were taken mentally anyway – at least in Frankʼs case, but his patients didnʼt need to know that, did they? After all, making them sweat with the clipboard was a method he wasnʼt quite averse to applying...  
Now wasnʼt the time, though.  
“Not the only one...”, Gerard smiled at him through his bangs, “...I _do_ know that I have a problem, but thereʼs a reason I chose this...place?”, he waved his hand around the room, fighting the urge to gag at the ugly paintings that were staring back at him from the walls of Frankʼs office, almost taunting him to get up and tear them down, replacing them with some of his drawings or at least a Darth Vader poster or something, for fuckʼs sake.  
“Yeah, I guess so. Well, Mikey and I went to school together...”, Frank explained, although he was pretty sure Gerard already knew. He did leave out the part about his friend showing up at his door step a few weeks ago, though, completely wasted and crying and begging him to help his brother.  
No need to make Gerard feel guilty. Not yet, at least. Still, he stored away that information for future reference – he was not above using it, screw morality, he might need to. If it meant heʼd get someone to talk to him, open up, he would hurt them. Although he started to suspect that it wouldnʼt be as easy, hurting Gerard, as it was with other patients. And he fully blamed the guyʼs shy smile – that might or might not make his stomach flip – for that.  
  
  
“So, Mr. Way–”, Frank started, pushing his earlier thoughts to the back of his mind and picking up his clipboard again, time to get down to business. Or, whatever.  
“Oh, come on, call me Gerard. Please!”, the other manʼs eyes went wide, and he wriggled around in his seat awkwardly.  
“Does it make you uncomfortable, being called Mr. Way?”, Frank raised an eyebrow at him, head tilted slightly to the side as he tried to get a good read on what Gerard was thinking.  
“Uh... I guess?”, the older man shrugged again, uncertain of himself, like he was being interviewed and afraid to give the wrong answer.  
“Why?”, Frank asked unabashedly, being completely aware of his patientʼs discomfort but not quite ready to let him off the hook yet, he needed to push.  
“Sounds so... dunno, grown-up?”, Gerard bit his lip and if Frank caught himself staring at that mouth of his again, then well, the only reason he did that was because he couldnʼt see his damn eyes, where else was he supposed to look, huh?  
“Whatʼs wrong with growing up?”, now he lifted his head at the other man challengingly, only barely suppressing a grin. Frank expected another rant involving lots of half-finished sentences, an odd mixture of apologies and curse words and the obligatory comic book references – but, as it turned out, maybe Gerard Way wasnʼt quite as predictable as heʼd thought him to be.  
“ _I wonʼt grow up, not a penny will I pinch! I will never grow a mustache, or a fraction of an inch, ʼcause growing up is awfuller than all the awful things that ever were! Iʼll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up, no, Sir, not I, not me, so there!_ ”, Gerard suddenly burst into song, out of nowhere – and damn, he could really sing.  
His voice took a little getting used to, yeah, but _fuck_ , thereʼs something about it, and to Frank it was downright beautiful!  
And did the guy wearing an Iron Maiden shirt, with his dark black eyeliner smudged almost down to his cheek bones just go all Disney on him? _Really_ ?  
“Peter Pan? Are you serious?”, Frank tried very hard not to laugh out loud – he did, okay, but professionalism or not, there are limits to what a man can do and putting on his serious face was just _not_ an option right now.  
Gerard blushed madly as realization of what he had just done hit him and he crouched down in his seat, angling his head so that the bangs covered his face completely – an art heʼd probably worked hard on perfecting over the years, Frank would bet on it.  
“Oh fuck, Iʼm sorry, that was really... Iʼm sorry, itʼs just, I sang this song in a school musical once because Nana wanted me to and she even made me this outfit, like, green tights and everything – which was a great idea, obviously, being the new kid and all and just about to build up my reputation, you can take a guess on how that worked out for me, but yeah, anyway, just... uh, joking. Sorry. Iʼll stop talking now...”, Gerard sputtered, his pointy nose turning a light shade of pink that Frank really shouldnʼt find that adorable.  
“Itʼs fine, Gerard...”, Frank tried to reassure him, using his first name on purpose, “...really, it is! Come on, youʼve got to know you can sing, right?”, he added emphatically.  
At that, the other man looked up hesitantly, but Frank could see the tension flow out from his shoulders bit by bit as he pondered the compliment, obviously not quite sure what to do with it. He reminded Frank of a kid that was handed a lollipop despite having been told not to eat too many sweets. Gerard wanted to accept it, but he wasnʼt quite sure whether he was supposed to.  
The professional part of Frankʼs brain dutifully noted three things: high school must have been a bitch for Gerard, he loved his Grandma to bits and he sings – which immediately translated to psychological trauma, fear of loss, possible emotional outlet.  
Meanwhile, the not so professional part of Frankʼs brain pictured Gerard in green tights.  
“You didnʼt really answer my question...”, he prompted, and watched the other man run a hand through his hair, something Frank had identified as a nervous habit Gerard had exhibited from the moment he had set foot into his office.  
“What? Oh, growing up – yeah. No. No problem at all. I think...”, he gave gave him a lopsided smile before going on, “... I mean Iʼm not wearing green tights anymore, am I?”, he joked and this time, Frank did laugh out loud.  
_Pity_ .   
  


* * *

  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD***   
  
_session #1 2008/11/19_  
  
Still on cold turkey, tremors have not stopped yet and neither has the sweating. Inquiring about hallucinations, insomnia, nausea and anxiety are imperative.  
Ashamed of his predicament but not denying it.  
Issues that should be addressed soon: life at high school, relationship to grandmother.  
Long since overdue: an investigation on why it's always the most gorgeous people who can't take a compliment (because fuck, he can sing).  
Mr. Way – no, Gerard feels awkward in my office. Change of surroundings might help (?)  
Also: green tights, pale skin, black hair and red lips – a good match, actually. Who would have guessed? We've found ourselves a new Snow White. Well, plus the green tights.  
Yes, this information is medically relevant as the patient and I had a heart to heart about Disney today (childhood memories and shit).  
  
*Disney Princess Disorder (#actualdoctorsdegree, #maturity) 

* * *

  
  
The bar they had agreed to meet at was crowded, it smelled of cigarettes and cheap beer and sweat and while on other nights, that might have just been what Mikey Way needed, tonight it made his stomach churn. He fought the urge to turn around the second he had gone in, already dreading the stuffy smell and longing for the fresh air of the cool autumn night that was awaiting him outside. It was already too cold for him to feel comfortable with the thin jacket he had grabbed on his rushed way out of the apartment heʼd been sharing with Gerard ever since his... condition had gotten worse, but at least the cold made him feel alive. Helped him think, wrap his head around things.  
This, the dull sound of the music in the background, the cigarette smoke he was inhaling, this was numbing.  
  
  
After squeezing himself through the crowd to the back of the bar, Mikey spotted a familiar figure in one of the quieter, dimly lit booths far away from the counter. Or, well, not his figure, particularly, but that hair of his was hard to miss, even with it being as dark as it was.  
“Toro!”, Mikey flashed him as genuine a smile as he could manage and for once, it wasnʼt that difficult, didnʼt feel that fake. Rayʼs face immediately lit up as he caught sight of him and he didnʼt waste a second before wrapping his arms around the other man tightly, and if he was holding on a little longer than necessary, none of the two was going to mention it.  
“Hey, man, how are you?”, Ray rested his hand on Mikeyʼs upper arm, gently tugging him into the booth, and looked at him intensely, worry written all over his face. Mikey smiled at him weakly and shrugged, knowing lying to him would be no use, but not really wanting to go into detail either.  
Ray understood.  
  
  
“Howʼs he holding up, then?”, he prodded gently, not wanting to push Mikey into telling him something he wasnʼt in the mood to talk about, but for fuckʼs sake, Gerard was his friend, too, and heʼd been worried sick ever since his little brother had finally confided in him because he couldnʼt deal with not talking to anyone and keeping Gerardʼs drug problem a secret any longer.  
“Alright, I guess. Itʼs not easy on him, I can see that, but he hasnʼt relapsed... itʼs not even been a week, though, so...”, he trailed off. They both knew that they had been at this point before. Several times.  
Staring at the table between them, Ray slowly pushed his beer towards Mikey, but he just looked at it contemplatively for a while before shaking his head.  
“Fuck, I canʼt even enjoy a beer anymore without thinking of him and all the booze and the pills and–”, he flailed his arms around helplessly, but stopped when his friend looked at him sternly.  
“But heʼs gotten help now, hasnʼt he? That old friend of yours, right?”, Ray gave him an encouraging smile, squeezing his arm gently.  
“Yeah, Frank, heʼs seeing Frank now, and I know heʼs a great guy and awesome at his job, he is, but Gerardʼs been so far gone, I donʼt even know where they should start...”, Mikey ran a hand over his face tiredly, sleepless nights of either watching over his brother so that he didnʼt accidentally choke on his own vomit or lying in his own bed wondering where heʼd gone wrong, at which point heʼd failed his brother, eventually taking their toll on him.  
“Thatʼs not your decision to make anymore, Mikey, thatʼs what Frankʼs there for, now, isnʼt it?”, Ray wrapped his arm around his shoulders and the other man leaned into him gratefully, thatʼs just what he had needed to hear. That it wasnʼt all on him anymore. That there was someone to share the weight with.  
  
  
“Come on, letʼs get out of here, the way you wrinkled your nose at my beer screamed pizza!”, Ray pulled him out of the booth and pushed him towards the door without even awaiting an answer, and Mikey couldnʼt help his lips forming into the tiniest of smiles, knowing it had been the right decision to call Ray Toro tonight, even though the other man kept rambling on about some guitar stuff Mikey didnʼt understand a thing about on the way to their favorite pizza place. It was worth it.


	3. – take me home (or: thereʼs no such thing as coincidences)

Gerard snorted as his eyes fell onto the black and white flyer pinned to the wall he had been staring at blankly for the past thirty minutes or so.  
_‛Just depressed or_ _ **depressive**_ _? Learn how to read the signsʼ_ , it said.  
Yeah, sure.  
Because he actually needed a fucking flyer to tell that he wasnʼt quite right in the head. Because sitting in a shrinkʼs waiting room wasnʼt already proof of that.  
He narrowed his eyes and continued to stare at the piece of paper angrily. Yes, being angry at inanimate objects was completely justified. At least to Gerardʼs mind. But then again, hadnʼt he just established that he wasnʼt all that sane to begin with?  
  
  
Seriously, though, the damn thing was fucking depressing in itself, with its stupid blurry picture of a crying woman in the background, and the boring black lettering, no colors whatsoever – at that, Gerard stopped to look down at himself.  
Black pants and boots – or, well, what once could have been described as boots and should rather go by the name of punk sandals or something right now – a black jacket and a shirt that _could_ pass for grey, if you ignored the fact that its color was probably just faded... well, black.  
He rolled his eyes at himself. Point taken. Whatever.  
  
  
Waiting sucked. Or Gerard just sucked at waiting, he wasnʼt sure. He sucked at a lot of things, so, yeah, that was probably it.  
He cast down his eyes and stared into his lap, fighting back a loud, melodramatic sigh, because he was in public and no, contrary to popular belief he hadnʼt reached that particular stage of pathetic yet, fuck you very much. It didnʼt make him yearn for his dark basement or at least Mikeyʼs apartment any less, though.  
Astonishingly enough, after a while, Gerard got bored of inspecting his own crotch and started picking at the sleeve of his jacket instead, much to his surprise seriously contemplating taking it off. He almost never took it off. But it was freaking hot in there, why did it have to be so hot? Why did he have to wait for such a long a time anyway? Wasnʼt that what people made appointments for? To avoid waiting? And why were there _still_ these fucking ugly–  
  
  
Gerardʼs head shot up hopefully as he heard someone open the door to the waiting room, fully expecting the pretty receptionist to smile at him and tell him that Dr. Iero was finally ready to see him now. But, no such luck. Of fucking course.  
He smiled politely at the dude that walked into the waiting room, because smiling was what was expected of him, but averted his eyes quickly as the other man sat down in the corner across the room. Gerard bit his lip and silently started praying.  
‛Please please please _please_ donʼt start talking to me. No need for small talk. Nope. Everyone hates small talk, I know that, you know that. _Everyone_ knows that. Donʼt make this even more awkward for any of us, just, whatever social etiquette might try to convince you to do, do not open your mouth, itʼs not that difficult, really, keep your lips pressed together tightly and just direct your anger at stupid flyers on the wall or whatever it is that normal people do, I donʼt care, just please do not point out the chilly weather or something equally irrelevant to me because–ʼ  
  
  
But it was too late for his prayers, Gerard could already feel the strangerʼs eyes on him, see him open his mouth out of the corner of his eyes.  
It wasnʼt the first time Gerard regretted not having the Force and never having received a letter from Hogwarts, because then at least heʼd know what to do.  
He dug his fingernails into the armrests of his chair to keep himself from screaming at the other man to fucking mind his own business, because seriously, couldnʼt he see that Gerard was socially awkward to the point that the mere thought of talking to strangers made him jittery? Werenʼt the black clothes and his too long hair and the way he was hunched in his chair enough indication of that? Ever heard of clichés? Hello _ho_? Stupid much?!  
This time, it _was_ the receptionist who opened the door, though. Gerard felt the overwhelming urge to give her a bone-crushing hug and send her a million thank you cards, but he doubted that heʼd find one that said ‛thanks for saving me from hyperventilatingʼ, so he just went with a relieved smile before fleeing from the room and following her into the doctorʼs office.  
  


* * *

  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety**  
  
_session #2 2008/11/21  
_  
Repeated attempts to get the patient to talk about his drug addiction failed. Not sure whether the title “Master of Diversion” as he shall from now on be referred to should be filed under talents or psychoses.  
Tougher measures need to be taken in the near future.  
Also, Master of Diversion or not, not so well hidden case of social anxiety (i. e. storming into my office, falling down to his knees and begging me to never make him wait for such a long time again because, and here I quote, “small talk makes him so nervous he might have to puke his guts out, and not in the metaphorical sense but more like that woman from _Gates of Hell_ ”).  
That reference might or might not have led to a not so professional discussion of gory horror movies, peppered with futile attempts to address the patient's actual problem.  
The utterly shrewd invention of mine to soothe my guilty conscience: homework.

* * *

  
  
He could do this. He could do this. He could do this.  
He could. Really.  
Or... maybe he _reaaally_ couldnʼt. But he could try lying to himself about it – itʼs not like that has never worked for Gerard before. Although, if he remembered correctly, that had been mostly about telling himself that he didnʼt have an alcohol problem. Or that the amount of pills heʼd been taking was nothing to be worried about. Or that he could stop any time he wanted.  
It was never about convincing himself that he could overcome his inhibitions.  
Gerard stared at the shabby neon sign above his head uneasily. Heʼd never felt anxious about walking into a bar before. But, to be honest, heʼd never had to face that decision sober either.  
Fuck, he was just glad that Mikey was out of town for a couple of days – there was no way in hell his little brother would have let him go to a freaking bar of all places, regardless of what his shrink had said.  
Coming to think of it, though, it slowly began to dawn on Gerard that this was probably not exactly what Dr. Iero had had in mind either when he had advised him to tackle his social anxiety by going to a ‛crowded placeʼ.  
Being the pitiful drunk he was, it was only now that his mind provided him with alternative places he could have gone to – a café, the mall, the bus...  
But of course Gerard Way had chosen a bar. Brilliant. Well, now that he was here, he might as well try and get rid of his vices all at once, right?  
Clinging to that thought, he took a deep breath, and stepped in.  
  
  
The smell of beer was overwhelming.  
It was a slap in the face and a warm embrace, screaming at him to leave and still luring him in with its treacherous call, sweet and poisonous and it had Gerardʼs head spinning within seconds.  
He tried to cover his nose, trembling, and he could barely make out the chattering and laughing all around him, or the music, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears so loud it was almost deafening. The light was blinding, and it was hot, too hot, and he couldnʼt breathe. It felt like someone had pulled the rug right out from under his feet, and Gerard was _falling falling falling_.  
The faces around him became blurry, scary and distorted masks, mocking him, beckoning him. It almost felt like he was drunk but at the same time he was painfully aware of how sober he was, and it hurt so much. His throat was burning with a thirst he couldnʼt control, craving for a drink he knew would quickly turn into two, three, four, ten.  
Drowning. It felt like he was drowning.  
Gerard frantically pushed his way through the crowd, not really seeing where he was going, the world around him was spinning so fast, and he wanted to tear out his hair, rip off his skin and he fucking wanted a _drink_.  
A distant voice was screaming at him to be strong, to resist, to fight, but it was no use because deep down, Gerard knew that there was nothing left fighting for – he was a fuck up, a failure, always had been and always will be, and heʼd been fooling himself for the past few days, him and everyone else.  
He staggered towards the bar, because, fuck, what difference did it even make, he couldnʼt keep this up forever – he would drink again, sooner or later and right now heʼd rather have it sooner because he just wanted the pain to go away, wanted to fill the hole in his stomach that was eating him up and demanding beer, wine, vodka, tequila, rum, anything he could get his hands on.  
His knees were shaking but heʼd somehow made it to the counter and he was about to open his mouth to order a shot of whatever theyʼd give him, heʼd take it all – but all of a sudden, someone grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around, too fast for Gerard to understand what was happening, all he caught was a glimpse of shock, disappointment, anger and... concern?  
He felt strong fingers wrap around his wrist, yanking him away from the counter. He was about to protest, but the words got stuck in his throat as he was pulled into the crowd, hot bodies pressing up against him and once again making him feel like he was drowning, but this time, the hand on his wrist didnʼt let him, didnʼt let go.  
  
  
And then he could breathe.  
The cold night air filled his lungs, his heart was still beating so hard he was afraid his rib cage would explode and he couldnʼt help but slump against the brick wall, not trusting himself to stand.  
Eyes squeezed shut and panting, he gripped the hand that had pulled him out of the bar and held on for dear life, not caring how desperate he had to look, because, fuck, he had been close, so close.  
“Gerard, what the fuck?”, an angry voice shouted at him. It was familiar, somehow, yet he couldnʼt quite place it – so, not Mikey, not his brother. Thank fuck, Gerard thought, because the last thing he wanted was for his brother to see him like this, _again_ , no, he wanted to be strong, needed to be strong, because lately, Mikey had been trying to be strong enough for both of them and it was destroying him!  
He swallowed hard and slowly opened his eyes and there it was, Frank Ieroʼs face staring back at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. He sounded furious, but his gaze was warm and concerned and it lacked the disdain, the disgust Gerard so often felt himself confronted with.  
  
  
“I...”, he croaked, wanting to explain, to apologize, to thank him but his tongue felt heavy all of a sudden and he didnʼt have the strength to put the whirl of emotions inside of him into words.  
“What were you even thinking, you fucker?”, Frank started flailing his arms helplessly before wrapping them around Gerard without hesitation – and that was it, Gerardʼs knees gave in and he sank to the ground, pulling the smaller man down with him as he clung to his shirt and started sobbing into Frankʼs shoulder.  
“Iʼm sorry, Iʼm so sorry, I didnʼt mean to! I was just–”, Gerard voice was muffled by the other manʼs shirt, but desperate, and suddenly everything just flowed out of him and he couldnʼt stop it, “–I swear I didnʼt mean to, I want to get better, really, I do, itʼs just so hard, so fucking hard, Iʼm sorry, Iʼm sorry, please...”, the tears kept running down his cheeks and he was vaguely aware of the fact that he was ruining Frankʼs shirt, but the other man didnʼt seem to mind, he just kept stroking his hair, softly rocking back and forth as he waited for the crying mess in his arms to calm down a little.  
“Shh, Gerard, itʼs gonna be okay, Iʼm here now...”, he whispered quietly and tightened his arms around the other man.  
“Itʼs alright, everythingʼs gonna be okay...”, Frank repeated and he meant it. He just hoped the other man could tell.  
“Please donʼt leave me...”, Gerard begged, not really caring how needy he sounded and that he barely even knew the guy, because honestly? This was his doctor, the doctor who was treating him because of his drug and alcohol addiction and whoʼd caught him at a bar and now Gerard was crying into his shoulder and wiping snot on his shirt, so yeah, it could hardly become any more embarrassing anyway.  
“I wonʼt leave you, you idiot, why do you think I pulled you out of there, huh?”, Frank couldnʼt help but laugh at Gerardʼs ridiculous request, although a tiny part of him felt like he really should be offended by the image the older man seemed to have of him – like, not being into Batman, leaving his patients, or anyone for that matter, in the back alley of a bar... yeah, like _that_ was gonna happen.  
Gerard muttered his thanks and they stayed like this for a while, until his legs fell asleep from the awkward position he was sitting in, so he reluctantly let go of Frankʼs shirt.  
He wiped his cheeks with the back of hands, feeling his face heat up and realizing how utterly pathetic he had to look, and avoided the other manʼs eyes as he scrambled to his feet ungracefully.  
  
  
“Come on, Iʼll take you home.”, Frank said and something in his voice told Gerard that he wouldnʼt take no for an answer, so he just nodded and watched silently as the other man pulled out his cell phone from his back pocket and called them a cab.  
The ride home was a blur, Gerard didnʼt know how, but he ended up lying on the backseat, curled up in a ball with his head resting on Frankʼs thighs.  
The other man was absentmindedly combing his fingers through his hair, shaking his head disbelievingly for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.  
“Seriously, what did you think you were doing...”, Frank whispered and it wasnʼt really a question, at least not one he had been expecting an answer to, but for some reason, Gerard felt compelled to tell him anyway.  
“Homework.”, he mumbled, before exhaustion took over and he drifted off to a restless sleep, filled with dreams about empty bottles and dirty bathroom floors, and flashes of tattooed knuckles tugging on his sleeve.


	4. – the morning after (or: the earth is doomed)

“Mikey, for fuckʼs sake, calm down!”, Frank ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to keep his voice down, but he was having a hard time fighting the urge to either scream into the phone or just hang up on his mental case of a friend.  
Brows deeply furrowed, he cast a worried glance at the still closed bedroom door of Mikeyʼs tiny, cluttered apartment, afraid of waking up Gerard, while searching for the leather jacket that heʼd worn yesterday and that somehow seemed to have miraculously disappeared over night.  
  
  
All hell had broken lose after he had decided to give Mikey a call. The guy was completely freaking out because of Gerardʼs almost-but-not-quite relapse – and yeah, it was a close one, Frank got that, he did, but the overprotective idiot somehow managed to blatantly ignore the ‛catastrophe avertedʼ part of Frankʼs recount of last nightʼs events, which was kind of the whole point to his story.  
Frank was already late for work, which Jamia had kindly reminded him of with no less than seven not so ladylike text messages, and heʼd barely gotten any sleep as heʼd spent half the night watching over Gerard – never mind how weird that sounded, he was just freaking worried and he had every right to be, okay? So, on top of all that, he really didnʼt need to be yelled at by his friend first thing in the morning.  
He didnʼt even fucking have coffee yet, because he had no idea where Mikey, the worst caffeine addict Frank had ever met, kept his no doubt huge (as in: probably enough to survive a zombie apocalypse huge) stash of that shit. He was so not up for this conversation right now.  
  
  
“For the hundredth time, _no_ , he didnʼt have a single drop of alcohol, alright? Heʼs fine, heʼs in your bed, fast asleep – what do you mean ‛are you sureʼ, of course Iʼm sure!”, Frank rolled his eyes in exasperation. At this point, the only thing keeping him from banging his head against the wall was the fact that he had, at last, managed to locate his damn jacket under the uncomfortable sofa heʼd spent the night on – well, part of it anyway, after heʼd reluctantly left Gerardʼs side because, seriously, the amount of time heʼd been staring at the other man in his sleep had been borderline creepy already.  
“Iʼm a _doctor_ , Mikey!”, he hissed angrily, stretching out the word ‛doctorʼ in a last, desperate attempt to get through to his pigheaded friend, still struggling to put on his jacket without dropping the phone in the process.  
“Wha– no! No, I wasnʼt quoting Star Trek on you, you fucker! Jesus, what is wrong with you?”, Frank groaned loudly, clutching the phone in his hand tighter to keep himself from throwing it out of the nearest window.  
“I _am_ a doctor, Iʼm _his_ doctor, youʼre the one who dragged him into my office in the first place, remember?”, he tried to reason with the other man, realizing belatedly that, yeah, ingenious move, because logic had _totally_ worked out for him so far.  
“Look, Mikey, Iʼm sorry but Iʼm already late for work, I really gotta go – just, trust me on this, okay? Heʼs fine, I promise!”, Frank didnʼt even listen to Mikeyʼs grumbled response before hanging up, shoving his cell phone into his pocket with one hand while pulling on his right shoe with the other, only barely avoiding to trip over some of the junk on the living room floor as he awkwardly hopped into the kitchen on one leg.  
Much like the living room, it was a mess. Actually, the whole place was, so it had been pure luck that Frank had spotted a pen and a piece of paper on the kitchen table.  
Fingers twitching, he fumbled out his cell phone again and checked the time once more, groaning in annoyance at another one of Jamiaʼs ‛if you donʼt swing your ass over here right now Iʼm gonna rip off your balls and feed them to your dogsʼ messages and decided, what the hell, she was going to eat him alive anyway, he might as well take the time to scribble a quick message for Gerard.  
  
  


* * *

  
     Hope youʼre feeling better.  
     I called Mikey, he kinda freaked out so you better call him back ASAP.  
     And donʼt worry about last night, but come see me later at my office?

* * *

  
  
He glanced at the note briefly, and tilted his head in a gauging manner, not quite satisfied with it, before deciding on a little amendment. Ways were fucking stubborn bastards after all, that much he knew.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
    Actually, scratch the question mark, Iʼm not having any of that ''too embarrassed'' or ''not wanting to be a burden'' kind of bullshit or  
    whatever you might think of pulling on me, Gerard.  
    You better fucking come.  
    -Frank

* * *

  
  
A few hours and several cups of coffee later, Frank was sitting at his desk, forehead resting on his arms, mere seconds away from falling asleep, when an almost inaudible knock made his head jerk up. He blinked sleepily and it took him a few seconds to recognize his surroundings, the familiar paintings on the wall, his messy handwriting on the bright pink sticky notes all around his computer screen – and the wooden door across the room that someone had just been knocking at.  
  
  
He hastily wiped his mouth with his sleeve and unsuccessfully tried to smooth down his unkempt hair, just in time for the door to open, revealing a no less disheveled Gerard standing in the doorway, which did make Frank feel slightly better about his own rumpled appearance. If only for a second, because then again, he mused, this was kind of Gerardʼs default.  
“Uh, hi...”, Gerard muttered quietly upon entering the office, black bangs falling into his face as he stepped forward tentatively and closed the door behind him. He leaned against it and sighed heavily, pointedly avoiding meeting Frankʼs eyes, even as he was being offered a tired but nevertheless genuine smile.  
“Hey...”, Frank said softly after a while. He didnʼt want to rush the other man by breaking the fragile silence, yet he had to say _something_ , since the way Gerard was leaning against the door as though his legs were about to give in made him itch with the desire to just get up and wrap his arms around the taller man like he had last night, to tell him everything was going to be okay... and for obvious reasons, that just wasnʼt an option.  
“Iʼm sorry...”, Gerard murmured eventually and made his way towards Frank with shaky steps, and the hurt and the anguish and the sincerity in his voice made the younger man swallow hard, choked with emotion, an emotion he couldnʼt quite place.  
All he knew was that he wanted nothing but to put Gerard out of his misery, tell him that it was no big deal, that he had nothing to be sorry for, but he bit his lip, hard.  
This was still his job, his patient and not his friend, for fuckʼs sake, no matter how blurred the lines appeared to be after last night.  
“What makes you say that? What are you feeling sorry for?”, he inquired instead, hating his own voice for how hollow it sounded, almost as though he was only reciting a line from the textbook on how to treat the mentally unstable, afraid that the other man wouldnʼt realize how much he actually cared.  
“For ruining your night. And... that you, uh, had to see me like that...”, Gerard admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. It was only then that Frank noticed the piece of paper he was clutching with the other one, held at an awkward angle behind Gerardʼs back, so that it was almost completely hidden from view.  
  
  
“Why donʼt you sit down?”, he motioned for Gerard to take a seat, trying to steal a glance at the piece of paper without being too obvious, as the other man did what he was told and shuffled awkwardly into the chair on the other side of the desk.  
“Did you call your brother?”, Frank didnʼt fail to notice the way Gerard flinched at that, and in all honesty, after having experienced Mikeyʼs wrath himself this morning, he really couldnʼt blame the guy.  
“Are you mad at me, too?”, now Gerard looked up at him with fearful eyes, anxiously worrying his lower lip and Frank groaned inwardly. It was getting more and more difficult to not just ignore protocol and cradle him in his lap with every passing second.  
“What? No, come on, Gerard, you know Iʼm not!”, he kicked his foot against Gerardʼs knee under the table affectionately and gave him an encouraging smile. Fuck professionalism, there were no rules on how to behave after your way too cute patient had fallen asleep in your lap, at least none that Frank knew of – and right now, he just wanted Gerard to stop looking so god damn distraught.  
“Bet you still hadnʼt planned to spend the night with one of your fucked up patients, huh?”, the older manʼs unusually raspy laugh, accompanied by the lopsided smile Frank didnʼt want to admit he was slowly falling for, made him relax a little and he leaned back in his chair. Gerard still looked incredibly nervous, but at least he was joking again. And smiling. Smiling was good.  
“Well, no, not exactly...”, Frank allowed with a grin, “...but to be honest, I was just glad I got there in time, before you, you know...”, he trailed off and looked Gerard straight in the eye, worry and concern and relief written all over his face.  
“Yeah... me too. To be honest, last night is kind of a blur, I barely even remember you pulling me out of that bar, but... I felt kinda bad about everything this morning – well, I still do, and I really wanted to apologize and thank you and I know this is not nearly enough, I mean how can I ever _ever_ thank you enough for that, but I didnʼt know what else to do and I thought you might like it... although itʼs so stupid, but yeah, so I just–”, Gerard blushed furiously and wriggled around in his chair even more than he usually did, until Frank eventually took pity on him by pressing a warm hand to his arm to make him calm down a little – and there went rule number one, flying out of the window in a wide arc: no touching patients.  
Though, actually? Screw that. He guessed heʼd bid adieu to that rule a few hours ago anyway and touching Gerard had its desired effect, as he stopped his rant mid-sentence and glanced up at Frank.  
“Just spit it out, okay?”, he huffed in amusement, only now realizing how much better he liked Gerard when he was babbling about something in a pace that made it hard to follow, even for Frank, than when he was all quiet and anxious and afraid to open his mouth. That just wasnʼt him.  
The other man didnʼt answer, though, his face just turned a darker shade of red and he held out the mysterious piece of paper heʼd been clinging to for Frank to see.  
  
  
Frank tilted his head curiously and took the piece of paper from Gerardʼs outstretched hand to take a closer look at it. His eyes went wide, mouth hanging open, as he stared at what he now realized was a drawing, and then at Gerard, and then back at the drawing.  
“I know itʼs nothing, really, but...”, Gerard averted his eyes and fidgeted nervously, and this time, for a change, Frank had to resist the urge to just slap him in the face.  
Nothing? _Nothing_? Was he fucking serious?  
“Shut _up_ , this is... this is amazing, Gerard, what the...”, Frank was aware that he was probably still gaping but right now, he couldnʼt care less. Heʼd known that Gerard had graduated from art school and that he was or had been a comic book artist or something from Mikey, and heʼd secretly considered that a pretty cool job, yeah, but he hadnʼt expected... well, _this_.  
“Itʼs you, you know... fighting off demons, like, in the metaphorical sense, because, well, thatʼs kind of what you did for me yesterday–”, the older man started to explain, but Frank cut him off, waving his hand excitedly.  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, Gerard! Itʼs awesome! I mean, it looks like a comic but you can still totally recognize my face and everything, how do you even do that, man? Only, fuck, Iʼm so badass with that machete, dude, and my hair! And these demons, I think they look like those Queller things from Buffy, you know? With the red eyes, sharp teeth and this kind of, I dunno, slug-like appearance? Know what Iʼm talking about?”, now it was his turn to babble uncontrollably, bouncing up and down in his chair like the teenage comic nerd he sometimes pretended not to be anymore, but for some reason, he really couldnʼt bring himself to care, still beaming at Gerard like he had fucking hung the moon or something.  
“So... you like it?”, the other man asked shyly and glanced up at Frank through his eyelashes, doubt still apparent in his eyes.  
“Fuck yeah I do! I didnʼt know you were such a great artist, this is, like, the best present ever! Trust me, I wouldnʼt have to think twice about spending another night on Mikeyʼs sofa if that meant youʼd draw me another one of these, man!”, he laughed, only half-joking, then realized his mistake and backpedaled quickly, “...I mean, donʼt get me wrong, donʼt ever pull that kind of shit again, Gerard, Iʼm serious but... oh, fuck it, all I wanna say is that this is really, really, really amazing! Thank you!”, Frank grinned at Gerard, rather daftly he suspected, and hoped that the other man would understand. He did. And he grinned right back at him.  
  
  
“Although, this does kind of make me Buffy, doesnʼt it...”, Frank thought out loud and put a finger to his lip, as though pondering whether that was a good thing or not.  
“Well, if you want me to, I mean if thatʼs your thing – kinky, but okay, to each his own – I guess I could add some boobs and long blond hair the next time...”, Gerard smirked at him and Frank flipped him off with a giggle. A fucking _giggle_. This was all kinds of inappropriate, and he knew it, but apparently, his endorphin swamped brain was too busy reveling in the fact that Gerard had just insinuated that there would be a next time to actually care.  
  
  
“So, you gonna put it on the walls in the waiting room or something then?”, the older man asked all of a sudden, challenging, a flicker of amusement in his bright green eyes as he watched Frank expectantly.  
“Uh, Iʼd love to, but I donʼt think that would have the desired effect on the other patients, you know...”, Frank answered evasively, but Gerard just quirked an eyebrow at that.  
“Why not?”, he shot back, and Frank briefly wondered at which point theyʼd reversed roles and heʼd become the one to be asked uncomfortable questions in his own office. Damn it, this guy was good.  
“Because I think most of my patients do not consider vampire slayers to be the most comforting thought in the world!”, he explained logically, not for a second expecting his reasoning to in any way convince Gerard.  
“Well, then obviously, most of your patients are idiots, with no taste in TV series whatsoever!”, the older man stated matter-of-factly and Frank barked out another laugh.  
“Sure, itʼs either that or not everyone is as much of a nerd as you are, Gerard...”, he shrugged innocently, mocking smile betraying his intentions, before Gerard threw a pen at him and they both started giggling again.  
“So, weʼre good?”, Gerard asked after a while and some of the anxiety had crept back into his voice.  
“After this?”, Frank gave him an incredulous look and gestured at the drawing, “...of course we are!”, he exclaimed with another one of his goofy smiles. And he meant it.  
“Great!”, Gerard slumped back in his chair, clearly relieved, “...because in that case, can I have a cup of coffee now please? Please please please? Iʼm dying here! Sorry, but I only had six so far and itʼs already past four and–”, Gerard pursed his lips and shot Frank a suffering glance, like that was all the explanation needed to tell that he was in dire need of an intravenous injection of caffeine.  
Judging by the fact that he was already back to talking at the speed of light and wriggling around in his chair, Frank really doubted that Gerard should have another cup of coffee and being his doctor, he probably shouldnʼt cater to another one of his addictions, but whatever, Gerard had had a shitty night as well and even if he hadnʼt, Frank couldnʼt possibly deny anyone coffee, could he? That was like, an inhumane thing to do.  
  
  
He got up wordlessly and walked to the front desk, pointedly ignoring the curious glances Jamia was giving him. Sheʼd probably heard them laugh and demanded an explanation, but he had enough explaining to do later on anyway, about why heʼd been late and where he had disappeared to last night – so for now, she would just have to add it to the pile of questions for the after work interrogation he knew was awaiting him.  
He came back a few minutes later with two steaming cups of coffee and handed one over to Gerard, quirking an eyebrow at the way the other man inhaled the coffee scent greedily the second he got his hands on the cup – Frank might have to reconsider the thing about Mikey being the worst caffeine addict heʼd ever known...  
“So, uh, not that I wouldnʼt enjoy continuing to discuss our awesome taste in TV series and insult a few of my other patients a little more, or something... but I figured we seriously need to talk about homework, Gerard, because I donʼt need to be a psychologist to tell that you and I fucking have some communication issues...”, Frank shrugged apologetically as Gerard pulled a face, and picked up his clipboard with his gloved hands.  
He still had thirty-seven minutes to get his shit together and do what he was fucking being paid for.  
  
  


* * *

  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety, coffee addiction**  
  
_session #3 2008/11/24_  
  
NOTE TO SELF: do not ever, ever, ever give Gerard any homework that requires him leaving his house, ever again.  
Potential hazard to himself and possibly every other living thing around him, because... well, because, let's face it, he's a weird motherfucker.  
Furthermore, addition to my personal 'skills that Gerard has that are totally irrelevant for his treatment but also completely awesome' list: drawing, like, whoa.  
Apart from that, I also sensed some Lost Puppy Syndrome vibes, that may or may not have made me take him home, after what I will from now on refer to as The Homework Disaster, and watch over him while he was asleep - although I wonder, does that mean _he_ needs some kind of anti-cuteness medication or am _I_ the one who is in dire need of pills?  
Just realized that this whole entry does not make any sense. I blame the lack of sleep and Jamia for tapping her fingers against my desk impatiently for the past 10 minutes because she wants all the details.  
Psychologically summing things up: attempt to alleviate symptoms of social anxiety turned into an almost-relapse, but Gerard seems to be fine now.  
Might have to treat Mikey for anger management issues and selective deafness soon, though. Huh, never thought I'd say that.

* * *

 


	5. – a walk in the park (or: a step in the dark)

“Are you _serious_?”, Gerard groaned melodramatically and shot Frank an exasperated look over his shoulder at the other manʼs suggestion. The bastard just grinned and nodded gleefully.  
Gerard had never realized how short Frank was – until, all of a sudden, the younger man had decided to leave his desk and drag him out of the office into a nearby park Gerard had never before set foot into, but with the way his doctor was bouncing on his heels right now, grinning like a maniac, face half illuminated by the afternoon sun filtering through the yellow and orange and red leaves of the trees, he couldnʼt help but think of a mad meerkat with a grown out mohawk. In a motherfucking turtleneck.  
He tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brows at the somewhat unsettling mental image, and couldnʼt help but wonder... how exactly did he end up trusting this guy to help him again?  
  
  
“So, let me get this straight... first, you drag me out of your office into a fucking park, because you figured I needed a change of scenery or whatever, and then you expect me to write a letter about my feelings? What the fuck _are_ you, a hippie in the disguise of a punk psychologist?”, Gerard threw his arms up in the air like he always did, and gestured wildly at Frankʼs hair before taking a step forward, out of the shadow of a large tree and into the sun, squinting his eyes at the sudden brightness and glaring at the sky as though the clouds were obliged to move at his will because he was the sassmaster of this universe or something.  
“Not the way I would have put it, but essentially, yes. You seem to have had some trouble in high school and Iʼd like you to write it down, thatʼs it – Iʼve spent a lot of time thinking about it and I figured there was no way, not even for you, to turn this kind of homework into a risk for your health, so...”, Frank explained calmly, but he didnʼt bother keeping the smug grin off of his face as he shrugged nonchalantly at his patient.  
“Man, youʼve got to be kidding me... okay, one, in case you havenʼt noticed, I used to live in a basement half of my life, so Iʼm kind of allergic to sunlight and chirping birds and... whatever this shit is...”, Gerard pulled a tiny twig and a few withered leaves out of his hair and stared at them with disgust, “...and two, as much as Iʼm into writing and stuff, Iʼm not really keen on reliving high school – I mean, youʼre a doctor, arenʼt you supposed to, I dunno, make me feel better or something?”, he tried again with that pleading look of his, but Frank just shrugged again.  
“You were the one shooting death glares at my office walls all the time, so donʼt start complaining now – and donʼt you worry, a little bit of sunlight wonʼt ruin the gamer tan youʼve obviously been working on _very_ hard your whole life, Gerard...”, at that, the older man barked out a laugh, because shit, had he really been that obvious? Well, whatever, Gerard did graduate from art school, so he knew what he was talking about, and Frank didnʼt actually seem to mind his not so subtle criticism of his interior design choices anyway.  
“And, believe it or not, I do think that reliving high school and writing it down might help you with what youʼre going through right now...”, within an instant, Frank was back to his professional mode again, voice calm and reasonable and shit, and Gerard almost fell for it.  
Almost, if it hadnʼt been for that spark of mischief in the other manʼs eyes, the one he had quickly learned to become wary of – because contrary to his first impression, Gerard had noticed that Frank wasnʼt that much of a clichéd do-gooder psychologist after all.  
  
  
Heʼd noticed how witty the other man could be and how he didnʼt treat Gerard like he was made out of glass, about to break, or, worst of all, already broken.  
Heʼd noticed that Frank wasnʼt tiptoeing around certain subjects like his brother was, or afraid to join in the playful banter that came so easily to the two of them when they were spending time together.  
Heʼd noticed a lot of things about Frank, recently.  
And thatʼs how he knew that his doctor most definitely wasnʼt above teasing Gerard for his own amusement, time and again.  
“Liar... I bet youʼre just getting back at me for ruining your night the other day...”, he mumbled grumpily, yet he was silently reveling in the fact that his accusation made Frank giggle that adorable giggle of his. The one Gerard just knew he was suppressing for professionalityʼs sake far too often when he was around him. He wished he wouldnʼt.  
“Maybe, but that doesnʼt mean you get to decide whether youʼll do it or not, because... well, doctorʼs orders. Anyway, the good news is – thatʼs it for today, timeʼs up!”, Frank stopped abruptly and smiled at Gerard. He looked kind of shy all of a sudden, eyes cast downward, hands clasped together behind his back and he was shuffling his feet nervously on the gravel.  
“Iʼd walk you home, I know itʼs not far from here, but I kind of have plans with Jamia – my, uh, secretary, youʼve met her – and I said Iʼd pick her up at the office, so...”, he looked at Gerard apologetically, as though it was part of his job, his duty, to walk his patients to their front door, and Gerard would have laughed at that if he wasnʼt so busy masking the completely irrational twinge of disappointment that he felt at Frank mentioning his plans with Jamia.  
  
  
Yes, heʼd met her. She was pretty. He remembered that heʼd considered buying her a thank you card, but now he kind of didnʼt want to anymore.  
Frank tilted his head and looked at him strangely, and it was only then that Gerard realized that he hadnʼt said anything in response – which he was supposed to, especially if he wanted to cover up his fucking jealousy or whatever it was that made his stomach churn at the thought of Frank and Jamia spending time together, but now it was too late.  
Smooth, Gerard, very smooth.  
  
  
“Uh, Iʼve been meaning to ask... is Mikey back yet?”, Frank shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans a little awkwardly, pretending he hadnʼt noticed Gerardʼs faux pas, and the older man was more than happy to just go along with that.  
“Nah, heʼll be back on Tuesday, I think...”, Gerard replied, without any embarrassing delay this time, but the ‛...which means Iʼll be spending the whole weekend by myself like the pathetic little loser I amʼ went without saying. Not to mention the fact that he hadnʼt been sleeping for days, ever since Mikey had left, but he was pretty sure his doctor had long since noticed the telltale bags under his red-rimmed eyes and, for some reason, chosen not to comment on it for the time being.   
For a second, Gerard wasnʼt quite sure whether he had imagined Frank opening his mouth and then biting his lip, almost as though heʼd wanted to invite Gerard over but then thought better of it.  
No. No, he couldnʼt have – wouldnʼt have.  
  
  
“Guess weʼll see each other on Monday, then?”, Frank smiled and gave him an awkward wave as he turned around to walk back to his office, into the opposite direction of Mikeyʼs apartment.  
“Frank?”, Gerard called after him a few seconds later before he could second-guess what he was about to say, and jogged up to the other man, whoʼd spun around and was looking at him curiously.  
“Yeah?”, he asked, tilting his head to the side again, and now it was Gerardʼs turn to blush and shuffle his feet.  
“The whole... park thing, it really wasnʼt that bad, to be honest... Mikey and I, we used to go hike through the forest by our Grandmaʼs house when we were kids all the time, you know? I... I just wasnʼt used to it anymore, but despite all the bitching and stuff... today actually reminded me of how much I used to love it, back then... so, thank you, I guess...”, Gerard knew he was flushed and that this sounded way too much like the typical ‛I had a great timeʼ phrase after a date, but honestly? Screw that, because all that mattered to him right now was the way Frankʼs whole face lit up at his words and Gerard knew heʼd made the right call.  
“Take care, Gerard...”, Frankʼs lips split into a genuine smile before he turned around again and walked towards the early sunset.  
Gerard was left standing there, watching him disappear around the corner, and the whole thing should have made him gag because it felt like a scene from a fucking chick flick, and it would have – it would have, if it hadnʼt been for the fluttering sensation in his stomach, the feeling of happiness heʼd been missing for months. He felt alive.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety, coffee addiction, vampirism**   
  
_session #4 2008/11/28  
_   
\- genius, noun  
BrE /ˈdʒiːniəs/ ; NAmE /ˈdʒiːniəs/  
・ showing unusually great intelligence, skill or artistic ability   
1 [uncountable] unusually great intelligence, skill or artistic ability  
・ the genius of Shakespeare   
・ a statesman of genius  
・ Her idea was a stroke of genius.   
_© Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary_   
  
Additional example: managing to get paid for a walk in the park while coincidentally hitting home by evoking precious childhood memories and thinking of an innoxious form of homework for Mr. Gerard Way.  
Ladies and Gentlemen, forget about Shakespeare, meet the genius of Frank Iero!  
Also, I seem to have moved from 'uptight yuppie shrink' to 'hippie in the disguise of a punk', which at least contains some kind of punk element, so I have every right to consider this progress. Fist pumps for me!  
Funnily enough, I do still feel the need to maintain a tad of psychological relevance to this patient file because my professionalism is going down the drain enough as it is during the actual sessions – which is why I figured I might at least try and get some real work done afterwards, so here goes: the patient does not continue to exhibit any of the initial withdrawal symptoms, yet he might have developed a PAWS in view of the recent panic attack and presumable insomnia. Consequently, it is imperative to watch out for any signs of mood disorders, anhedonia or OCD (impaired interpersonal skills do not count as a symptom as they were inadequate to begin with) although it is highly unlikely to develop these symptoms at this stage of withdrawal.   


* * *

  
  
“Linds, Iʼm telling you, he _so_ wants to get into that guyʼs pants – canʼt even blame him, heʼs kind of cute. A little weird... but definitely cute!”, Jamia had her feet propped up on the counter, ankles crossed and phone cradled between her head and her shoulder.  
She was swiveling around in her chair while inspecting her hands, grimacing at the slightly flaky nails. Sheʼd already done all of the paperwork for today, more than an hour before her shift had ended, because yeah, she _was_ that good, and right now, with all her chores done, there was no better way of passing the time until Frank would pick her up than calling her best friend to share the latest juicy bits of gossip. Oh, the perks of being the J.D. to your bossʼs Turk...  
  
  
“Huh, good question – and, uh, interesting categories... well, Iʼd say itʼs the ‛boyfriend materialʼ kind of cute, but, you know, I wouldnʼt rule out the... what did you call it, ‛undercover kinky motherfuckerʼ kind of cute either – honestly, he could be both, could be a real catch!”, she giggled at Lindseyʼs bluntness.  
It was just like her best friend to skip asking for his age, his job, or at least for his frigginʼ name like any remotely normal person would have done – no, Lindsey Ballato always went right down to business. And conversations like this? Definitely one of the countless reasons Jamia loved this batshit crazy woman to bits.  
“Trust me, Iʼve known Frank my whole life, I have a sixth sense for stuff like this – would you... Lindsey, would you stop laughing at me, you know I do! I feel like know him better than I know myself sometimes!”, Jamia exclaimed confidently, crossing her arms in front of her chest although the other woman couldnʼt see her, because no, despite Lindseyʼs accusations, there was no way in hell that she was just ‛imagining thingsʼ, not this time.  
  
  
“Look, when have I _ever_ been wrong when it comes to – yeah, once... okay, maybe twice but... come on, that time so doesnʼt count! I was confused and – whoa, whoa, stop right there, we agreed to never ever speak of _that_ night again, remember? Frankʼs gonna kill me if he ever finds out that I was the one who – yes, yeees, okay, I get your fucking point, but itʼs different this time, I swear, I just know it!”, Jamia threw her hands up in frustration, fighting down a blush at the memory of that one particular time, when sheʼd been _sooo_ sure that it would be a good idea to set something up between Frank and that sweet-looking guy whoʼd been working at the local book shop and unfortunately turned out to have some seriously disturbing fetishes that may have scarred Frank for life...   
But with Gerard, it wasnʼt like that at all, with him, it was... different.  
  
  
Yeah, she tended to be a little overzealous when it came to Frankʼs love life, misinterpret things, overreact, but she had seen the way Frankʼs face lit up whenever the other man had entered his office, and how he kept stealing not so subtle glances at the list of appointments on her desk – although she suspected that, after a few days, he had a certain someoneʼs appointments memorized anyway – and then there was that mysterious incident at the bar theyʼd gone to last Sunday night, which Frank definitely hadnʼt told her everything about. Professional secrecy, my ass.  
There was something going on between the two of them, there was no doubt about it. Frank just didnʼt want to admit it, apparently not even to himself.  
“Hell, no, you should see them, they wonʼt even last a month until they declare their undying love for–”, at that very second, Jamia narrowed her eyes as she heard someone walk up the stairs to the office and lowered her voice conspiratorially, feeling a devious smile creep onto her face as an idea suddenly popped up in her mind, “...actually, you know what, Linds, if you donʼt believe me, how about a bet? Come on, what do you want? Money, beer, a new tattoo, you name it!”, when Frank walked into the office, she bit her lip to maintain a blank expression that wouldnʼt immediately give away her intentions. She greeted him with an innocent wave instead, resisting the urge to do a victory dance after her best friend had reluctantly agreed to her proposal on the other end of the line.  
  
  
“Youʼre on, sugar! Uh, listen...”, she cut her off hurriedly, “...gotta go now, Frankʼs here – letʼs meet up tomorrow and work out the details, alright? Talk to you later, bye!”, she quickly hung up and beamed at Frank, who tilted his head in confusion.  
“Um, what was that about? You planning something?”, he asked and she turned around to hide her grin as she put on her jacket and picked up her bag from underneath the counter.  
“No, no, nothing – you ready? Because Iʼm starving!”, she chirped and grabbed him by his sleeve, pulling him out of the door into the chilly hallway and pointedly ignoring the fact that he was still eyeing her suspiciously.


	6. – you and me and the nanny makes 3 (or: surrender the night)

 

**1\. Braineaters**  
_The Misfits_  
Walk Among Us (1982)  
  
**2\. Dancing With The Big Boys**  
_David_ _Bowie_  
Tonight (1984)  
  
**3\. Beat My Head Against The Wall**  
_Black_ _Flag_  
My War (1984)  
  
**4\. How Soon Is Now?**  
_The_ _Smiths  
_ Meat Is Murder (1985)  
  
---  
  
  
  
“Um... Gerard?”, Frank started hesitantly, “...this is not really what Iʼd been asking for...”, he suppressed a mocking smile at his patientʼs defiant expression, chin up high, jaw clenched and slightly protruded forward.  
Heʼd briefly considered scolding Gerard for not doing his homework, letting him know that he just had to follow some rules, work with him rather than against him, telling him that he was disappointed in him, blah blah blah – basically all the usual psychological bullshit to manipulate his patients into cooperating.  
So Frank had been going for a meaningful expression, he wanted to act reproachful, he really did, but somehow he just couldnʼt bring himself to look even the tiniest bit annoyed and eventually, his curiosity about why Gerard had chosen to give him... this thing instead of a letter or an essay or whatever Frank had been expecting got the better of him.  
  
  
“Well, youʼre wrong, because I believe itʼs exactly what youʼve been asking for!”, Gerard retorted unflinchingly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. With narrowed eyes, Frank took another look at the CD case in his hands, turning it around a few times, inspecting the self-made cover and opening it again to check whether heʼs been missing something on the inside. Or the outside, or wherever.  
But nope, even after a thorough examination, it was still just a CD. No hidden message, no explanation whatsoever.  
  
  
“This is a CD...”, he stared at Gerard dumbly, stating the obvious, because what else could he say to that? It _was_ CD... and it wasnʼt supposed to be one.  
“No shit, Sherlock...”, Gerard chuckled, “...your deduction skills are astounding!”, he pressed his hands to his chest in mock amazement, and Frank scowled, only barely resisting giving in to the childish urge to throw his pencil at him.  
“This is a _CD_...”, he repeated, drawing out the last word in an attempt to underline his point, “...and you were supposed to _write_ about your life in high school!”, mustering as much calm as he could despite his impatient nature, Frank put the CD down and picked up his clipboard instead.  
Adjusting the glasses he rarely wore, not even at work, he fixated Gerard with what he hoped to be an intimidating stare. He was aiming for the way psychologists in movies looked at their patients, that ‛I know what you did last summerʼ kind of stare, that would pierce right through them and make them spill all their dirty little secrets.  
Only that there was no way Frank was pulling that off, because, one, letʼs face it, short people werenʼt considered all that intimidating, and two, his life wasnʼt a movie – and if it had been, it sure as hell wouldnʼt have been a classic featuring a memorable therapist like ‛The Sixth Senseʼ. Oh no, Frank would be much more likely to star in something like ‛Anger Managementʼ – and honestly, even then, he wouldnʼt get to be the kick-ass psychologist, but rather the guy being played by Adam Sandler, the one whose name no one remembered and who made you flinch because of too much secondhand embarrassment, because, well... welcome to Frank Ieroʼs life.  
  
  
“Didnʼt you just wanna know what I felt like back when I was still in high school? Well, this is it. Trust me, thereʼs no better way of showing you...”, Gerardʼs words pulled Frank out of his sea of self-pity, and he didnʼt fail to notice that his expression had suddenly changed into something more serious, something more genuine.  
“One song for each year. I could have put together thousands of songs, really, but, uh... those were the first ones that came to mind and I guess that means something, doesnʼt it?”, he continued to explain, staring into his lap shyly.  
“Yeah, I... I guess it does...”, Frank mumbled in response, all of a sudden feeling really guilty for even thinking about scolding Gerard. Yeah, maybe this wasnʼt exactly what heʼd been asking for, but in a way, this was so much more than a simple letter would have been.  
  
  
This was music.  
A part of Gerardʼs life, a piece of his soul, almost like torn pages from a diary.  
A diary from a very dark place in his mind.  
Frank could tell that this wasnʼt something Gerard would just show anyone, something he revealed easily. And he knew he was his doctor, and heʼd asked him to open up, ordered him to, but he still felt absurdly honored to be the one the other man shared this with.  
“You know, I also thought about adding ‛Black Coffeeʼ by Black Flag or Maidenʼs ‛Infinite Dreamsʼ, but honestly? That wouldnʼt have been about high school, those songs are... well, kind of, the story of my life, you know?”, Gerard laughed quietly and shrugged, fingers busy with his shirtʼs sleeves as he still avoided looking directly at Frank.  
“And, uh, I was considering ‛Depressionʼ for a while, by The Misfits, I mean, but... uh, I didnʼt wanna be overly dramatic or something, so...”, he shrugged again, as though he didnʼt care, but something in his face had changed. His features had hardened and his shoulders seemed tense, and Frank could see his discomfort, his shame, no matter how desperately Gerard tried to hide it, shrug it off as a joke.  
“Would it really have been...?”, Frank inquired softly, reaching across the desk as if to touch Gerardʼs hand, but he couldnʼt, the other man was still busy fumbling with his sleeves.  
“Huh?”, he looked up shortly and tilted his head to the side, confusion showing in his eyes, and they seemed hollow, haunted, far away. It made Frankʼs chest ache.  
“Overly dramatic, Gerard... would it really have been?”, he clarified, although he knew the answer to his question even before the other man started shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He had access to Gerardʼs patient files, to all of them, and heʼd taken his time to study them carefully, maybe heʼd even been a little more meticulous than he used to be, so he knew all about the other manʼs medical history, about what he had been treated for and about the meds heʼd been taking for years.  
“Uh... no. No, not really, I guess...”, Gerard admitted, sounding resigned and sad and humiliated, and when he finally looked up at Frank once more, his lower lip was trembling and there was fear in his eyes, fear of rejection.  
  
  
“Hey, itʼs alright. Itʼs alright, Gerard... donʼt... you donʼt need to hide, okay? Not from me...”, Frank smiled at him reassuringly and if the way he did reach out this time and finally took Gerardʼs hand in his own, wishing that for once he wouldnʼt wear any gloves, wasnʼt strictly following protocol, well, he didnʼt give a fuck as long as he could see the light return into Gerardʼs eyes, as long as he was the one to pull him back from the past and into the present.  
“You, um, should take a look at the lyrics, too, some time... itʼs not just about the titles, you know?”, Gerardʼs attempt at changing the subject wasnʼt very smooth, but it made Frankʼs lips twitch, ready to play along, and he let go of his patientʼs hand.  
“I donʼt have to. I know them, all of them!”, Frank leaned back in his chair and folded his hands, suppressing a triumphant grin, because he certainly wasnʼt planning on letting on that he kind of felt like heʼd just passed a test, so he figured heʼd better keep any expression that might suggest that he secretly wanted a cookie for his awesome taste in music off of his fucking face.  
“You do?”, Gerard raised an eyebrow at that and fixed him with a scrutinizing look, pursing his lips in an appreciative manner, almost as though he wanted to say that Frank had come a long way from an insignificant, whitebread shrink or whatever it was that the other man had initially seen in him, and the challenging spark in Gerardʼs eyes made it really hard for Frank to resist throwing overboard the pathetic remains of his professionalism to show the other man just how unconventional he could be.  
  
  
“Yeah, I do...”, Frank raised his chin and narrowed his eyes, not able to shake the feeling that this really was some kind of test, “... which is why Iʼm pretty sure you got the last one wrong. I mean, ‛How Soon Is Nowʼ is from 1984, actually – sure, it was later featured on their 1985 album ‛Meat Is Murderʼ, but the song was originally released on the B-Side of ‛William, It Was Really Nothingʼ...”, he took off his glasses and grinned at Gerard smugly, realizing that his suspicions had been correct the second the other man beamed back at him, nodding enthusiastically.  
“But you already knew that, didnʼt you? Huh, were you... were you testing me, Gerard?”, drawling out his patientʼs name, he leaned forward and rested his head on his hands, elbows propped up on the desk. He watched Gerard expectantly, eyebrows raised.  
“Maybe?”, the other man answered, going for nonchalant, but his blinding grin was giving him away. No wonder Mikey had the best poker face in the whole fucking world, because this one obviously hadnʼt gotten any of those genes. Frank didnʼt really mind.  
“Why?”, he inquired, because as much as he appreciated the opportunity to show off a little, show his patient that there was more to him than meets the eye, he really didnʼt get what Gerard had been testing him for.  
“Dunno, just wanted to make sure you had good taste in music!”, Gerard was still grinning widely, and Frank briefly got lost in his thoughts, wondering about how his teeth could be so perfect considering the amounts of coffee and cigarettes he had witnessed him consume in the past two weeks alone, but he quickly discarded that train of thought. Come on, focus. There was more than enough time to ponder about Gerardʼs smile and his lips and his teeth once he got home to his apartment, stepped into the shower, lay in his empty bed...  
“Which is relevant because...?”, Frank didnʼt want to let this go, although he should probably worry a lot more about where this conversation was headed than he actually did, and about how he hoped for Gerard to tell him that he hadnʼt been interested in his other shrinksʼ music taste.  
“Duh, because I wouldnʼt wanna be treated by someone who doesnʼt know shit about The Smiths, isnʼt it obvious?”, Gerard replied promptly, his tone implying that he considered Frank a mental case for even having to ask.  
“Uh, sure. Totally relevant, medically speaking, how could I not see that?”, this time, Frank couldnʼt hold back a laugh, and to be quite honest – he didnʼt want to. Being around Gerard made him feel so light-headed, all the time, and he was fucking tired of having to hide that feeling.  
“Yeah, ʼcourse!”, Gerard snickered and all of the earlier forlornness in his eyes had vanished and Frank couldnʼt help but notice that chasing away Gerardʼs demons was something he might enjoy doing for the rest of his life, without needing to be paid for it, ever.  
  
  
“Youʼre weird...”, he blurted out before being able to bite his tongue, and he mentally slapped himself, because for fuckʼs sake, this was still his patient, so, _waaay_ to go...  
Gerard just scoffed, though, and he didnʼt seem genuinely offended by Frankʼs not so flattering choice of words.  
“Uh, yeah, thatʼs kind of why Iʼm here in the first place, remember? Iʼm your patient, pretty sure Iʼm supposed to be a little weird – I bet all of your patients are!”, he laughed out a little, a slight blush suffusing his cheeks.  
“Well, yeah, in some way or another... We _are_ all mad here, and stuff, but, Gerard, youʼre still different...”, Frank conceded and it was true. Gerard was different in so many ways, good and bad and terrifying, that heʼd completely lost count already.  
“Iʼm just gonna take that as a compliment?”, his eyebrows were furrowed and he sounded nervous, as though he wasnʼt quite sure whether Frank had really intended it to be one.  
“You should...”, Frank reassured him, silently reveling in the fact that Gerardʼs blush deepened and that the other man could barely keep his face from splitting into a huge smile, matching his own.  
Frank had but a second to freak out about how wrong this was, how he shouldnʼt be flirting with his patient like this no matter how right it felt, before the door was being slammed open, with a loud bang when it hit the wall, and the moment was gone, neither of them having the chance to utter any more incriminating words.  
  
  
Frank could barely process what was happening before another person angrily stomped into the office, but he saw Gerardʼs face being drained of all blood as he stared at the intruder with wide eyes – _shit_.  
Mikey Way was a scary motherfucker.  
  
  
“Wha– Mikey!”, Frank exclaimed, mouth agape. He shot up from his seat, almost knocking the chair over in the process, and desperately tried to fight down the blush that was slowly creeping up his neck, because, well, his friend had basically just walked in on him flirting with his _brother_ , whom he was supposed to be treating for his drug addiction, on top of everything else, instead of attempting to seduce him, so... yeah, awkward – but after the initial shock had passed, the rational part of Frankʼs brain helpfully reminded him of the fact that Mikey couldnʼt possibly have noticed any of that, could he?  
Clinging to that thought, he willed himself to calm down a little, waiting for his racing heart to stop trying to burst through his fucking chest, and took in the scene in front of him.  
Mikey hadnʼt spared him a single glance, hadnʼt even acknowledged Frankʼs presence in the room, which, since this was _his_ office after all, would have seemed incredibly rude at any other time.  
He was fuming, though, and if Gerardʼs utterly terrified expression was anything to go by, Mikeyʼs fury was directed at no one but his brother, so he probably didnʼt give a fuck about whose office heʼd just barged into.  
“I– I thought you werenʼt, uh, supposed to come back until tomorrow...”, Gerard murmured, eyes still wide open, flinching as his brother took another step towards him with an intimidating expression of poorly concealed anger.  
  
  
“I called you, Gerard. I called you _seven_ times. And you didnʼt pick up once. I left you _three_ messages to tell you that Iʼd take an earlier plane, because I was fucking worried about you...”, Mikey spit out through clenched teeth, “...and then I came home to an empty apartment, you just... you werenʼt there and I had no fucking idea where to find you, and after what Frankʼs told me about the other night, I was afraid Iʼd have to – fuck, Gerard, you canʼt do that to me!”, he growled furiously, and Frank worriedly noticed that the other manʼs hands had curled into tight fists and he was shaking with anger.  
Gerard still stared at his brother like a deer caught in the headlights, mouth opening and then closing again without uttering a word, clearly at a loss of what to say.  
“Do you have any idea how much I... if I hadnʼt found the note with your appointments with Frank, I... fuck, what were you thinking, Gerard?”, Mikey hit his fist against the wall and Frank heard Gerard gulp audibly. He couldnʼt blame him, not at all, the sight of Mikey Way, undoubtedly the most stoic man heʼd ever known, being this furious was fucking terrifying, to say the least. And Frank did feel sorry for Gerard for being on the receiving end of all that unbridled fury, but he honestly didnʼt want to switch places with him right now...  
“My... my phone died yesterday, I guess I just, uh, forgot to recharge it, Mikey, Iʼm... Iʼm sorry, I didnʼt think that–”, Gerard started to apologize, voice sounding frantic, but Mikey didnʼt even let him finish that sentence.  
  
  
“No, thatʼs it, you just didnʼt _think_! At all! You never do! Can you fucking imagine what it felt like, being told that you almost relapsed while I was in another fucking state, far away, with no way to help you, to look after you?”, Mikey was still trembling, but his voice cracked, and the anger seemed to be leaving his body, bit by bit.  
Instead, Frank could see so much anguish, so much fear, and Mikeyʼs unadulterated love for his brother shine through – it made him feel out of place all of a sudden, even in his own office, almost as though he was eavesdropping on an intimate scene between the two brothers, seeing something that wasnʼt meant for his eyes.  
“No, I – I canʼt imagine... Iʼm sorry, Mikes... but, um, nothing happened, you know that, Frank was there and he, he took care of me, he even stayed the night!”, Gerard bit his lip anxiously, trying to make his brother understand, and Frankʼs chest tightened a little at his words, at the memory of that night. It was the first time Mikey turned his head to really look at Frank, nodding gratefully before focusing on his brother once more.  
“Donʼt you ever do that again, Gerard, ever! I donʼt care what it takes, but Iʼm gonna watch your every step and I wonʼt fucking leave you alone for one second until we get this done and over with, because I will not fucking lose my brother to alcohol and pills, you hear me?”, Mikeyʼs face softened at the end, and Frank averted his eyes as he knelt down in front of Gerard, grabbing him by the shoulders and staring at him intensely.  
“You hear me?”, he repeated, and there were tears in his voice when he finally wrapped his arms around Gerard, who just nodded in response, silently, not trusting himself to speak as he clung to his brotherʼs jacket for dear life, face buried in the other manʼs shoulder.  
“Iʼm serious, I wonʼt let you out of my sight, Gerard, I donʼt care whether you agree with that or not, I just wonʼt!”, Mikey pulled back after a while, repeating his threat and Gerard offered a disarming smile in response and raised his hands in a pacifying manner.  
  
  
“Yeah, got it, _mom_...”, he rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but his eyes were shiny with unshed tears of affection, “... buuut I can still go to Rayʼs concert tomorrow night, right?”, he was about to laugh, the corners of his mouth already twitching, the question obviously intended as a joke, but at Mikeyʼs lack of response and his single, meaningfully raised eyebrow, Gerardʼs laugh died in his throat.  
“Wait – wait wait wait, you arenʼt serious, are you? You canʼt – I canʼt miss it, Mikey, I canʼt! Hell, weʼve been talking about this for weeks, I _have_ to go!”, he was flailing around hectically, but his brother just shook his head resolutely.  
“No, no way – the concertʼs gonna be at a club, Gee, with a bar, and we both know what happened the last time you – just, no!”, Mikey reasoned with that impossibly calm voice of his, the one Frank was used to, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line, worry and distress and anger still palpable.  
“But – come on, no! I promised Ray Iʼd be there, Iʼve been looking forward to this for weeks, Mikey! And youʼll be there, too, you can keep an eye on me, please, thatʼs just not fair!”, Gerard whined and Frank hated that all he could do was watch – the other man looked so devastated, it didnʼt take much to realize that this concert obviously meant a lot to him.  
“Iʼm their fucking manager, Gerard, Iʼll be busy meeting people and arranging stuff, I wonʼt have time to watch over you, so forget it!”, Mikey shook his head again, his tone suggesting that his decision was final.  
“Please, I donʼt need a fucking babysitter, Mikey, Iʼm–”, Gerard protested, but he was cut off again by his brotherʼs sharp words.  
“Well, obviously, you do!”, Mikey shot back and even Gerard had to realize that there really wasnʼt much to say to that, not in the light of recent events.  
  
  
“But... but...”, Gerard started and shot a desperate glance at Frank, silently screaming for help the other man just couldnʼt provide, as much as he would have liked to – but then, his face lit up with a sudden idea and Frank could feel his stomach drop even before Gerard opened his mouth again, “...but Frankʼs gonna come, too! I, uh, just invited him, actually, and he said heʼd come with us – didnʼt you?”, Gerard gave him a meaningful look, but Frank just stared at him open-mouthed, at a loss of what to do.  
Sure, he didnʼt want Gerard to suffer, heʼd love to help in any way he could, but what he couldnʼt do was just give in as easily as that. He was still Gerardʼs doctor, after all, and it didnʼt take a genius to figure out that agreeing to this, letting himself be wrapped around someoneʼs finger like this, would send all the wrong messages to a patient!  
It didnʼt help his inner turmoil in the least that Mikey had turned his head, and that there were now two expectant sets of eyes staring at him, so all he came up with was a very intelligent “uh...”, before Gerard rambled on.  
“He can watch me, canʼt he, Mikey? That would work, I mean, after all, heʼs a _doctor_ , and heʼs helped me once before... right? Right?”, he tugged on his brotherʼs sleeve, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.  
“Yeah... I guess... I mean, if youʼre really going to the concert?”, Mikey agreed reluctantly and raised a suspicious eyebrow at Frank, obviously waiting for a less evasive answer than the one heʼd been given.  
Frank knew exactly what he was supposed to say to that, knew that he should clear this up right then and there, but he still couldnʼt help but struggle with his answer.  
What the fuck was happening, what had this man done to him? Frank had no clue – but what he did know was that the way Gerardʼs lopsided smile made him all pliable, made him want to agree to all and everything he said was seriously not healthy anymore and he might be the one to have to consider psychological treatment soon.  
Despite knowing all this, in the end, all it took was one last glance at Gerardʼs pleading eyes, and Frank couldnʼt stop himself from telling a lie he knew heʼd regret sooner or later...  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety, coffee addiction, vampirism, emotional manipulator**  
  
_session #5 2008/12/1  
  
_ That's it. I give up. I can't treat someone with a smile like that. I just can't.  
I'm emotionally compromised or whatever (and yeah I realize that I just quoted Star Trek, so what, sue me).  
  
...  
...  
...  
  
*EDIT: Yeah, just kidding. I'm young and I need the money. Well, no, actually, I don't. But I'm not one for giving up, so fuck it, I've got some lyrics to analyze.  
  
  
_“Brains for dinner  
Brains for lunch  
Brains for breakfast  
Brains for brunch  
Brains at every single meal,  
Why can't we have some guts?”  
  
  
_ ・no guts = hypocrisy?  
・high school most likely lacked adequate challenges and  
opportunities for individual development (unsatisfactory art  
classes?) _  
  
  
__“Something's going on in society  
(Dancing with the big boys)  
You chew your fingers and stare at the floor  
(Dancing with the big boys)  
One wrong word and you're out of sync”  
  
_ ・big boys = bullies, parents, teachers? _  
_ ・social anxiety is apparently rooted in experiences at high school  
(any specific events?)  
・constant fear of being rejected for being himself or stepping out  
　of line in any way (maybe non-normative tendencies?)  
  
  
_“_ Beat my head against the wall one more time  
Will this solve my problems at all?

 _Swimming in the main stream is such a lame dream_  
No method to the madness  
Beat my head against the wall!”   
  
・ possible history of auto-aggressive behavior?   
・ no mentions of past self-harm in any of his patient files,   
no visible wounds or scars  
・ hence it is likely to be a metaphor (but this matter is not  
to be taken lightly and should still be further examined)  
  
  
_“I am the son_  
And the heir  
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar  
I am the son and heir  
Oh, of nothing in particular  
  
You shut your mouth  
How can you say  
I go about things the wrong way?  
I am Human and I need to be loved  
Just like everybody else does  
  
There's a club, if you'd like to go  
You could meet somebody who really loves you  
So you go, and you stand on your own  
And you leave on your own  
And you go home, and you cry  
And you want to die”   
  
・ a shyness that is criminally vulgar = shyness regarded as social  
handicap, i.e. limited ability of self-expression?  
・ feelings of insignificance (lack of purpose in  
life as possible cause for depression)  
・ strong need for affection and approval  
・“ clubs” represent the epicenter of loneliness and his outsider  
status → may have led to compensation with alcohol and drugs  
Well, let's see what we can do about the feelings he associates with being at a “club” tomorrow night - I might as well try and turn this fucking foolishness of mine into something halfway productive.  
And just for the record: to me, the _only_ thing wrong about Gerard is his chronic unwarranted self-derogation.   
  


* * *

 


	7. – kobayashi maru (or: I believe in miracles)

As a kid, Gerard had sometimes, just sometimes, ripped out the wings of butterflies and other insects. It hadnʼt been right, but still, at that time, there hadnʼt been anything wrong with it either. Everyone had been doing it.  
Back then, it had been nothing but a simple expression of the barbaric curiosity only children could get away with.  
They were young, they were supposed to be innocent. They didnʼt worry about the absurdity of deriving pleasure from torturing living beings, about how sick their fascination with it was, and Gerard certainly didnʼt worry about those creatures and their pain, about what it would feel like.  
There was no point. He had no wings, so he didnʼt need to know what it felt like to have them ripped out. In his infantile mind, it was as simple as that.  
  
  
As an adult, however, he began to understand.  
When everyone he once held dear was ripped away from him, slipped through his fingers, slowly, one by one, he began to understand. He began to understand what it had to feel like, losing oneʼs wings.  
  
  
A cold breeze made him shiver.  
He blinked a few times at the tilted window, coming back from wherever his mind had wandered, before he remembered where he was and that heʼd been the one to open it, not too long ago. Still somewhat dazed, he glanced at the digital clock on the bathroom shelf.  
8:30 PM, it said, which meant he had about fifteen minutes until they had to leave for the concert.  
Gerard stared into the mirror. Hollow eyes stared back at him.  
Blemished skin, uneven eyebrows. The hint of a stubble that would never grow into a beard. Feminine cheekbones, a crooked mouth.  
He took it in apathetically. Thereʼd been a time when heʼd been fretting about all the things that were just so wrong about his face, but that had been a long time ago. Back when heʼd still told himself that one day, _one day_ everything would magically change.  
  
  
Only that that day never came, and by now he knew it never would.  
A fucking long time ago.  
  
  
He applied his eyeliner with clinical precision, unblinkingly staring back at his impassive reflection in the mirror.  
He often wondered whether other people could see through his masquerade as easily as he could, whether they saw how empty his smile was, and how vacant his eyes. And sometimes, he had to admit, sometimes he wanted the world to see, but he doubted anyone but Mikey did. His little brother, who was the one person Gerard wanted to hide his weaknesses from, the one person he didnʼt want to pull down with him, the only one he wanted to protect from this maelstrom of numbness and depression and addiction that was his life.  
He willed the dark thoughts away and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, namely applying the same amount of eyeliner to his left eye as he had to the right one.  
Why bother, the sardonic voice in his head reminded him, why bother when in the end, it wouldnʼt change a single fucking thing.  
He was very well aware that there was only so much make-up he could apply, only so many flaws he could cover up. But he tended to ignore that sometimes, because, well, what was it that people always said? Ignorance was bliss.  
He discarded his dirty shirt, not sure how long exactly heʼd been wearing it, but there was no doubt that it had already been much longer than was socially appropriate, and left the bathroom in search of a clean one. Well, a _cleaner_ one, anyway.  
He grabbed his favorite Batman shirt from where it had been shoved underneath the sofa, sniffed at it, wrinkled his nose, but eventually decided that the smell wasnʼt too bad.  
By habit, he avoided looking into the mirror before putting it on. He didnʼt have the energy to get upset about his too pale skin and his too pudgy stomach and his slumped shoulders today. He just didnʼt.  
After having gotten dressed, he took one last look in the mirror, smiled the fake smile that was coming to him so naturally by now that he almost fooled himself, and decided that it would do, that heʼd make it through the night.  
  
  
-  
  
  
“Gee? Youʼre my brother and I love you...”, Mikey started after pulling up to the club, sighing heavily as he checked his flat-ironed hair in the rear-view mirror for what felt like the millionth time since theyʼd gotten into the car. Gerard snorted.  
“Just spit it out, Mikes, sentences like that never end well, no need to sugarcoat it...”, he waved his hand dismissively without even bothering to look at the other man.  
“Well, you _are_ my brother and I _do_ love you...”, Mikey repeated imperturbably, “...but youʼre also an egocentric bastard most of the time, and we both know how much this concert means to Ray, so you better get your head out of your fucking ass and at least put _some_ effort into pretending that you actually wanna be here to support one of your best friends, okay?”, he finished soberly, grabbing Gerardʼs arm not too gently to get him to turn around and face him. Gerard reluctantly averted his eyes from the passenger side window to look at his brother. Mikey just raised his eyebrows expectantly.  
“Yeah, alright, whatever...”, he mumbled, not quite able to swallow his pride and admit that, of course, his brother was right – _again_ – and that he was behaving like a defiant child because heʼd somehow gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.  
“Good!”, Mikey shot him another stern look before he exited the car, purposely leaving Gerard behind to give him a few minutes to get a grip on himself, before he, too, opened the door and stepped into the icy night.  
  
  
Gerard didnʼt even try to suppress a complacent smile that all but screamed ‛fuck youʼ as they passed the clubʼs bouncer – the fucking meathead had not so subtly sneered at Gerard as heʼd descended the steep stairs to the entrance, not bothering to hide his disdain in the least, until Mikey had calmly informed him that he was, in fact, the main actʼs manager and yes, the emo fag with the greasy hair did belong to him. Shallow prick.  
  
  
This time, though, Gerard didnʼt have the chance to launch into one of his infamous moralizing rants about heteronormativity and intolerance – which he was often told lost some of their seriousness due to the distracting amount of colorful insults anyway – because once theyʼd entered the club, he was too busy being shoved around by his brother, who had quite some trouble keeping up with all the friends or acquaintances or whatever they were patting Mikeyʼs back and telling him how fucking awesome it was to see him there.  
It was, diplomatically put, a tiny bit annoying because honestly, who the fuck _were_ all those people? And since when did a bunch of fratboys suddenly treat Michael James Way, as in unicorn-loving formerly four-eyed nerd Michael Way, like their new best friend?  
Seriously, this was supposed to be a fucking rock concert, what were they even doing here in the first place?  
Gerard had decided that heʼd never understand the music business a long, long time ago, but nevertheless, it didnʼt fail to baffle him every once in a while when Mikey would drag him along to some kind of event.  
Well, luckily, most of them were ignoring Gerard, so he was positive that the high school popularity rules heʼd been growing up with still applied, which was strangely comforting in a way he wouldnʼt have expected a few years ago. Geeky art kids wearing eyeliner obviously still werenʼt considered cool by any means, so... yeah, it was sort of awkward, being Mikeyʼs seemingly invisible plus one, but being ignored was something he could, at the very least, deal with.  
It didnʼt change the fact that Gerard still found all those guys sucking up to his brother fairly irritating, but then again, he supposed, having to force a polite smile on his face every time Mikey introduced him to one of them, while trying very hard not to panic because, uh, _people_ , was kind of the best way of taking his mind off of all the booze awaiting him at the bar, mere feet away. No, this time, he didnʼt bother lying to himself – he knew that his feet would have carried him there the instant heʼd entered the club, without even blinking, if Mikey hadnʼt been there to keep an eye on him. They both knew.  
  
  
“Ah, there he is!”, Gerard heard his brother say, his voice almost drowned out by the dull hum of the music, and he suddenly felt himself being pulled towards the stage.  
He leaned to the left as he followed Mikey, to look past his brotherʼs small frame and catch a glimpse of whatever douchebag heʼd be meeting next, but within an instant, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, pleasantly surprised by the sight he was being treated to.  
Mikey was heading straight to a small guy with a black mohawk and a tight, red shirt, standing with his back turned towards them – and sure, his hair and his clothes were nice enough to look at, a welcome change to parent-pleasing hairstyles and polo shirts, but what really caught Gerardʼs attention were his tattooed arms. He couldnʼt make out any particular shapes from where he was standing, it was just a blur of black and red and blueish ink really, but it was captivating.  
Dazedly, he felt his heartbeat speed up as Mikey continued to drag him towards the other man, although, truth be told, at this point he didnʼt really need to be _dragged_ anywhere.  
The stranger looked familiar, somehow, and at the same time he didnʼt, it was dizzying, and all Gerard knew was that he couldnʼt help but feel enraptured, even though he hadnʼt even seen his face yet.  
Huh, he thought, appraising eyes slowly traveling down the strangerʼs arms as they approached him, only to land on his perfectly shaped ass – maybe he needed to reconsider, maybe those music industry guys werenʼt _all_ bad...  
He also silently thanked a God he didnʼt believe in for the invention of skinny jeans, because, well... it _was_ a fucking nice ass.  
It wasnʼt until they stopped right behind the other man, though, and Mikey touched his shoulder to make him turn around that realization hit Gerard like a bucket of cold water. Or really, really hot water, _boiling_ , in this case, because he felt his face burning up at the other manʼs blinding smile.  
  
  
Frank.  
It was Frank.  
  
  
Gerardʼs mouth fell open and he stared at him, unabashedly, at him and his piercings and his make-up and his tattooed hands and arms and the fucking scorpion that was right there on his fucking neck for all the world to see, and he had trouble breathing, completely caught off guard and unable to hide his complete and utter bewilderment.  
Then, slowly, very slowly, it began to dawn on him, his mind starting to put the pieces together: the fact that his doctor had never taken off his gloves, the fucking turtlenecks, Mikeyʼs secretive smiles whenever he had mentioned him, and then thereʼd been those feverish dreams about tattooed hands from that night at the bar. About _Frankʼs_ hands, he realized.  
Gerard couldnʼt believe heʼd missed this the whole time! Sure, heʼd noticed the outgrown mohawk and yeah, Frankʼs taste in music was kind of a giveaway, so he had made up his mind about him being as boring as his lack of skills for interior design had suggested at the beginning, but still, he hadnʼt... he hadnʼt expected _this_.  
This was art.  
Frankʼs body was covered in art.  
  
  
Gerard couldnʼt keep himself from hungrily running his eyes up and down the other manʼs arms, somehow knowing that he probably hadnʼt even seen the half of it, and at that thought, he felt a shiver run down his spine.  
His fingers were twitching with the urge to get his hands on it, to touch, taint it, tarnish it. Add his own mark.  
It was overwhelming.  
“I trust youʼll take care of my weirdo big brother here?”, Mikey said with an amused grin directed at Gerard, who was still gaping at his _shrink_ , of all people, and drooling over him like he was fucking Han Solo or something. Mikey squeezed his brotherʼs shoulder in a vain attempt to stop Gerard from making a complete fool out of himself – although, honestly, he should have known from experience that Gerard hardly ever did anything but.  
“Yeah, sure, as soon as he comes back to earth...”, Frank chuckled and winked at Gerard as Mikey gave them both an awkward, one-armed hug and disappeared into the crowd.  
“Uh... hi, uh... you... hi...”, Gerard stuttered, feeling stupid for not being able to hide his shock, yet still desperately hoping that, right now, shock was the only one of his mortifying emotions that was visible on his face.  
  
  
“Hi, Gerard!”, Frank chirped happily as though they hadnʼt already been standing there for a while, flashing him another one of those blindingly beautiful smiles, and Gerard wasnʼt quite able to discern whether the other man was genuinely glad to see him or just tried to cover up how creeped out he was by his patientʼs strange behavior.  
“You, uh, you look different...”, Gerard forced himself to look away from Frankʼs arms and meet his eyes, going for a nonchalant shrug that was betrayed by the tremor in his voice. Frank didnʼt seem to notice. Or, chose not to mention it.  
“Well, yeah, I guess...”, he buried his hands in his pockets and shrugged, rocking back on his heels as he stared at his feet with a shy smile on his lips.  
When he looked up again, he gave Gerard the once-over and pursed his lips in an appraising manner, an expression he managed to hold for about three seconds, before his mouth split into the cheeky grin Gerard was so used to by now.  
“ _You_ donʼt...”, Frank chuckled again, and Gerard knew that it was meant as a joke, he knew it, but it still left him feeling deflated within seconds.  
  
  
Right, there it was. That familiar feeling of unease, of being... wrong.  
This was the effect clubs always had on him, always. It was a miracle it had taken so long tonight. It was the same, every fucking time, clubs just made him feel small, made him feel insignificant.  
Granted, this time he hadnʼt put much effort into looking halfway decent, but even after dressing up and standing in front of the mirror for hours like a fucking girl sometimes, after putting on make-up and trying out different expressions to decide which one would make him look, well, the least ugly, even after reaching the point of feeling sort of okay about himself when he left the house, the minute he would enter a club and see all the other people, pretty people, normal people, heʼd feel so wrong all of a sudden, like he was wearing all of his faults on his sleeve, like he had a giant tattoo on his forehead that said ‛do not touch, broken beyond fixingʼ.  
He didnʼt want to feel like that, not ever and especially not now, not with Frank and his sweet, sincere smile, because he just wasnʼt one of _those_ people.  
One of those judgmental assholes, the ones youʼd meet at each and every club in town, the ones who tried to make Gerard feel bad about himself on purpose and knew exactly which buttons to push, the ones whoʼd give him nasty looks all night to turn him into the insecure, self-conscious mess he tried so hard not to be – and self-conscious, in this case, usually meant having him so gone that they could have him on his knees by the end of the night, and heʼd let them fuck his mouth in one of the dirty bathroom stalls while calling him a little whore, a fag, without being aware of the irony – no, _no_ , Frank wasnʼt like that, he just wasnʼt, and Gerard didnʼt want to think about all those nights he had let himself be abused by strangers just to feel a little less lonely. It seemed dirty, now more than ever, for some reason.  
Still, even though Frank had made him feel at ease so often before, right now he couldnʼt help but feel unsettled, fidgety, like heʼd fall apart any second and no one would be there to pick up the pieces.  
‛ _I am Human and I need to be loved_ ʼ...  
He almost snorted as the memory of that particular line popped into his head out of nowhere. Loved? Hell, it would be nice enough already to have someone know him, truly know him, see him like he was, faults and everything, who wasnʼt bound to him by blood like Mikey was, and who still didnʼt run away screaming.  
  
  
Frank seemed to sense his discomfort, though, realizing what heʼd made Gerard think, and he softly put a hand on the other manʼs shoulder.  
“Hey, that was a compliment, dumbass... after all, you werenʼt the one wearing gloves and turtlenecks each and every time we saw each other, were you?”, he looked to the ground shyly and started playing with his lip ring – a fucking lip ring, how could Gerard not have noticed that that spot beneath his lower lip wasnʼt just a mole? He wasnʼt usually that unobservant, was he?  
“I mean, you already got to wear cool band shirts and stuff all the time!”, Frank continued and at that, Gerard had to smile. He couldnʼt remember the last time anyone had referred to his clothing by the word ‛coolʼ or even anything close.  
  
  
He then took a closer look at Frankʼs shirt and noticed the handwritten words on the front – ‛HOMOPHOBIA IS GAYʼ, it read, in scrawled black letters, but their color had become a little pale, as though it had been worn and washed a thousand times already.  
Gerard gulped and tried to tell his brain very hard not to get his hopes up, but he just had to ask, subtlety be damned.  
“What, uh, what about your shirt? I mean, thatʼs not a band shirt, so... whatʼs it about?”, he nodded his head towards Frankʼs chest, eyes still glued to the words, which he wanted so desperately to have a deeper meaning.  
“Oh, this? I made this ages ago, as a teenager, I think, when I was still in a band, you know...”, Frank started, a fond smile grazing his features at the memory, “... and I decided to wear it on stage to, I dunno, take a stance on people telling you who to love, and who not to. I guess it looks kinda worn out, and the whole self-made shirt shit is probably really fucking old-school by now, but, whatever, I still love it because of the message and stuff...”, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly and Gerard felt his knees go weak.  
“I like it!”, he blurted out, not feeling too bad about having the most obvious crush on his fucking psychologist, because hey, at least his bluntness made Frank smile and Gerard would take that over being smooth all the time.  
  
  
“But, wait, what? You were in a band? For real?”, and there he was, back to gaping at Frank as his brain belatedly caught up with what the other man had said, amazed, despite not having gotten the information heʼd been hoping for.  
“Um, yeah, I was... and thank you, but, you know, no need to look so disbelieving, Gerard...”, Frank raised an eyebrow in mock annoyance and bumped his fist against Gerardʼs shoulder. He didnʼt seem genuinely offended, but Gerard still felt bad for not being able to get his head around this different side of Frank.  
“Sorry... didnʼt mean to, uh, you know... Iʼm just surprised. And awkward, really really awkward, but you already knew that, so, uh, sorry... anyway, what did you play?”, he tried to hide his embarrassment, not very successfully, but once again, Frank just pretended he wasnʼt put off by Gerardʼs serious lack of social skills.  
“Guitar... and I also sang, sort of – honestly, though, what _did_ Mikey tell you about me, except for my job?”, he huffed in amusement, clearly surprised that Gerardʼs brother apparently hadnʼt told him anything about who Frank really was before shoving his ass into his office.  
“Nothing much, really...”, he admitted.  
‛Certainly not that youʼre hottest shrink under the fucking sun, no he didnʼt...ʼ, his brain supplied helpfully, but miraculously, he managed to keep his mouth shut this time and just smiled at Frank apologetically, although the other man didnʼt really seem to mind anyway.  
  
  
Returning his smile, he just grabbed Gerardʼs wrist and tugged on it.  
“Whatever, come on, I think your friendʼs band is next, and we wouldnʼt wanna miss that, right?”, he winked at Gerard once more and pulled him closer towards the stage, where Ray was already plugging in his guitar with a huge smile on his face, that became even bigger when he spotted Gerard. He smiled back and gave him an awkward little wave.  
“That him?”, Frank shouted in his ear, and Gerard nodded, feeling sort of proud, and all of a sudden, all the tension was leaving his body. With his shoulder pressed up against Frankʼs, seeing him bouncing up and down with excitement out of the corner of his eye as the sound of the guitars started to fill the club, Gerard felt that somehow, everyone around them just didnʼt matter anymore.  
Somehow, it was just him and Frank and the music.  
  
  
-  
  
  
“That was _a-ma-zing_!”, Frank beamed at Gerard after the band had left the stage and the clapping and the screaming had died down a bit, flailing his arms and still trembling with exhilaration.  
“Like, really, really, really fucking amazing!”, he repeated, as though the way he couldnʼt stop himself from grinning wasnʼt already proof enough of how thrilled he was.  
Gerard just offered a thin smile in response.  
  
  
Frank was right, of course, Rayʼs band had killed it, but the crowd around them had also gotten more and more drunk with every passing minute, and now that the music was gone, he became all too aware of the smell of booze floating around, engulfing him, luring him in.  
The people in the club were laughing and singing and dancing, but all he could think about was the sound of clinking beer bottles everywhere around him.  
“I mean, the songs were great and everything, but your friend? Ray? Man, he is a fucking genius, like, I donʼt know how he even did what he did to that guitar, but whatever it was, it sounded sweet!”, Frank raved on about how awesome Ray was, talking animatedly about guitars and amps and riffs, and Gerard just couldnʼt find it in him to interrupt, because it was kind of cute and yet another side to Frank heʼd just discovered – and somehow, he felt like that was something heʼd never get tired of.  
  
  
As much as he tried to focus on Frank, though, he still couldnʼt tune out the buzz of the party going on around him, all the images and noises and smells that filled up his brain to the point where he was afraid it would explode, and he grimaced at the dull pounding behind his eyes, a silent promise that another severe headache was awaiting him just around the corner.  
“And did you know that Billie Joe Armstrong also – uh, Gerard? You alright?”, Frank asked, his expression changing from excited to concerned the very second heʼd noticed Gerardʼs scrunched up face.  
  
  
“Wanna go outside for a smoke?”, he added without awaiting an answer, already gently taking hold of Gerardʼs wrist like he knew that this was just what the other man needed, so Gerard simply nodded at him gratefully before following Frank out of the back door of the club, ignoring the strong sense of dejavu.  
The two men didnʼt say a word when Frank dug out the cigarettes from his back pocket and lit one for himself and one for Gerard. They leaned against the cold brick wall and shared a moment of comfortable silence, each lost in his own thoughts.  
  
  
“Fuck, I needed that...”, Gerard admitted after a while, eyes closed, head resting against the wall as he blew out the smoke into the icy air.  
“How did you know?”, he turned his head to look at Frank before taking another drag of his cigarette, genuinely curious eyes fixated on the younger man beside him.  
“Well, duh, I get paid for noticing shit like this, and, sorry to break it to you, but youʼre not the most subtle person on earth, Gerard...”, Frank replied with a cheeky grin, his voice a little raspy, half of his face illuminated by the moonlight, and the image had Gerardʼs stomach doing backflips. Well, that, and the way Frank wrapped his lips around his cigarette and threw back his head to blow out the smoke towards the night sky – because, fuck, making smoking look so obscene should be illegal.  
“True...”, he conceded, sliding down the wall until he hit the hard ground, smiling a little as he saw Frank doing the same out of the corner of his eye.  
It was an irrational feeling, he knew that, and _he_ wasnʼt a psychologist or something, but there was that thing about people mimicking your body language or whatever that heʼd read about some time ago and he was pretty sure that, according to that semi-scientific article, it meant something good...  
“No, really, it was just a hunch. And I needed it myself...”, Frank admitted quietly, “... you know, youʼre not the only one who doesnʼt always feel at ease at clubs, Gerard...”, he shot him a tentative smile, accompanied by a noncommittal shrug. Somehow, it made him look uncharacteristically unsure about himself, and Gerard was pretty sure that this was a side of Frank other people rarely got to see.  
“Sometimes I... I get this feeling, like I canʼt breathe and thereʼs just too many people and itʼs suffocating, and then I get so hyperaware of my surroundings and everyone else and... I dunno, it just gets too much, you know? Actually, I used to get that a lot, back when we got to play a few shows with my band, I was just so nervous...”, Frankʼs voice had almost become a whisper and he sounded a little wistful, but his words hit home.  
“Yeah. Yeah, exactly...”, Gerard whispered, because he got it, he really did. He scooted a little closer to Frank before he even realized what he was doing, but once their shoulders were touching and he felt the other man lean into him, he couldnʼt bring himself to care.  
  
  
Like that, they continued smoking their cigarettes in silence, until Mikey eventually found the two of them, still sitting on the cold ground, huddled a little too close, looking a little too comfortable. He had a knowing smile on his face as he looked at Gerard, but he didnʼt comment on it.  
“Gee, you alright?”, Mikey held out his hand for his brother and he took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet before helping Frank up.  
“Iʼm good...”, Gerard replied, and it wasnʼt a lie. He smiled at Frank as he helped him get off the ground, holding onto his hand for a little longer than necessary.  
  
  
-  
  
  
It was still early, but after a few drinks, they unanimously decided to call it a night.  
Mikey had offered Frank a ride home, and he had gladly accepted, so half an hour later, their car pulled up in front of a nice-looking house in the suburbs of Belleville.  
“Thanks for the ride, Mikey, and, well... thanks for taking me with you – those guys were awesome, and _please_ tell the dude with the hair that we should totally get together to jam some time, if heʼd be up for that, yeah? And, uh, see you tomorrow, Gerard?”, Frank quickly opened the door and slid out of the car before Gerard could even do so much as nod, and his absence left him feeling weirdly empty.  
“Arenʼt you gonna walk him to the door?”, Mikey teased, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, and he made no move to start the engine as he watched Gerard stare dreamily after Frank. Gerard cursed a little, but unfastened his seat belt anyway before he could think better of it, and stumbled out of the car to run up Frankʼs driveway, catching him just as he was about to enter the house.  
  
  
“Gerard?”, he blinked at him in confusion, looking a little tired, but his smile was as caring and encouraging as ever.  
“Can I ask you a question?”, Gerard blurted out, heart thumping wildly in his chest, because no matter how sane Frank made him feel, he was pretty sure that the other man had no idea how broken a person heʼd stumbled upon to, how far gone Gerard really was – and yet he still felt hopeful, for the first time in forever, that heʼd found someone whoʼd be able to fix him.  
“Yeah, of course...”, Frank replied without hesitation and he sounded like he meant it. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Gerard gathered up his courage, all too aware that his fragile hope depended on the answer to this silly little question, and that something inside him would die a little if Frank turned out not to be the person Gerard wanted, no, _needed_ him to be.  
“Did you... did you ever have to treat someone who was too broken to be fixed?”, he choked out, his stomach tied in knots. The words felt heavy on his tongue, although it wasnʼt even what heʼd been meaning to say, but there was so much more beneath the surface of that sentence and he couldnʼt even begin to try and put his feelings into words.  
But he didnʼt need to. Frankʼs warm smile told him that the other man understood exactly what Gerard wanted to know.  
  
  
“No. I didnʼt. I donʼt believe in the no-win scenario, Gerard...”, he answered truthfully and Gerard felt tears filling up his eyes. He let out a choked laugh and looked to the ground, unable to meet Frankʼs eyes.  
“Youʼre such a geek...”, he chuckled, and a weight was suddenly being lifted from his shoulders, a weight so huge he felt light-headed with relief.  
“Uh, says the comic book author?”, Frank raised an eyebrow, which Gerard couldnʼt see because he still had his gaze directed at the ground, but he could hear the amused smirk in the other manʼs voice. It felt so good it hurt.  
“At least I donʼt quote Star Trek on a regular basis!”, he defended himself, but the other man did have a point. Frank might have been the king of nerds, but if so, Gerard would no doubt be his queen – and he couldnʼt say he minded the mental picture that insinuated, not in the least.  
“Oh, come one, you love it!”, Frank announced self-confidently, and it was true, but Gerard wasnʼt quite ready to admit just how much he really _did_ love it.  
“Whatever, dork...”, he replied instead, finally looking up to meet his friendʼs eyes, not caring if the other man saw how shiny his were, “... thank you, Frank...”, he whispered, before turning around and walking back to the car, not sure whether heʼd just imagined Frank whispering ‛alwaysʼ in return.  
  
  
“What, no kiss? Cʼmon, Gee, donʼt tell me you donʼt put out on the first date!”, Mikey cooed as Gerard dropped into the passengerʼs seat, fumbling around to fasten his seat belt.  
“Mikeyway, youʼre my brother and I love you...”, he repeated his brotherʼs earlier words as Mikey turned the key in the ignition, “...but youʼre also a giant pain in the ass and I will kill you if you donʼt shut up, _now_!”, he threatened, trying to look menacing but failing miserably at the sound of Mikeyʼs giggle.  
Tonight, he couldnʼt bring himself to care.  
“Youʼre welcome!” 


	8. – code of conduct (or: joining the skeleton crew)

“Are we ever gonna use that sofa?”, Gerard asked by way of greeting as he walked into Frankʼs office the next day, stopping in front of the purplish sofa without even so much as looking at his doctor or anything else in the room, hands on his hips and head tilted slightly to the left, examining the piece of furniture in front of him as though it was the most natural thing to do, first thing in the morning. Maybe for Gerard, it was.  
  
  
“Uh, good morning to you, too...”, Frank raised an eyebrow at his patientʼs odd behavior, but he couldnʼt stop his lips from twitching into an amused smile, because if he had learned one thing about this man in the past two weeks, then that ‛oddʼ was pretty much his middle name.  
  
  
Gerard Way was easily the most peculiar specimen of humanity Frank had ever met, and the most intriguing person heʼd had to treat in a while. He couldnʼt deny that, apart from Gerardʼs obvious need for professional help, it was this peculiarity that had peaked Frankʼs psychological interest – among other interests, but he suspected that that was rather due to the fact that Gerard was also one of the _finest_ specimens of humanity to be walking the earth, and for Frankʼs mental healthʼs sake, he was trying his best to ignore that part.  
It didnʼt help much that said specimen was currently eyeing Frankʼs sofa as if he was debating on which side of it Frank would rather have him bend over, though.  
  
  
“Are we?”, Gerard repeated his question without looking up, narrowed eyes still fixed on the sofa. This time, Frank couldnʼt help but laugh out loud.  
“Do you want to?”, he asked back slowly, hiding a pleased smirk at the scowl that his remark earned him. It was nice that, by now, he knew exactly which buttons to push to elicit a certain reaction from Gerard and no, he had no qualms about exploiting that knowledge to the fullest.  
“Ugh, you _know_ how much I hate it when you answer my questions with a question – I mean, thatʼs just so fucking clichéd, even for you!”, Gerard complained melodramatically, making a snappy gesture with his hand, but he did move away from the sofa, his momentary fascination with it obviously forgotten, and flopped down into the chair he was usually sitting in, so Frank counted it as a win.  
“So is making patients lie down on a sofa, isnʼt it?”, he replied promptly, grinning at Gerardʼs thoughtful expression as he pondered the question.  
  
  
Frank didnʼt doubt, not for one second, that the other man didnʼt take this question any less seriously than he would have taken crucial ones. Like, letʼs say, questions about life after death or the ethical dilemma of therapeutic cloning or which one of the Lord Of The Rings movies was the best – not that there was much to argue about with regard to the latter one, at least not according to Frank, but the point was, with Gerard, he felt like there was absolutely nothing he couldnʼt have a serious discussion about.  
So, yeah, heʼd barely known this guy for two weeks, but if he was to wake up at three in the morning and feel the need to discuss the probability of aliens invading the earth, he still knew that Gerard would be the one heʼd want to call.  
And Frank didnʼt know if that made him or Gerard the weird one. But either way, he didnʼt really give a fuck.  
It was a strangely comforting feeling.  
  
  
“Yeah, I guess... itʼs just, you know, I was wondering why itʼs even here if weʼre never gonna use it, I mean itʼs not like itʼs exceptionally pretty or something...”, Gerard shrugged after a while, grimacing as he turned his head to eye the sofa once more, distaste more than apparent on his face, which had Frank throwing his head back and groaning in frustration.  
“Will you _ever_ stop complaining about my interior design choices, Gee?”, he laughed, before schooling his features into what he hoped came off as an exasperated glare, but judging from Gerardʼs shit-eating grin, rather than that, it had most likely turned into a fond scowl or something equally dumb.  
  
  
It was only when the other manʼs gaze softened all of a sudden, and his pale cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he smiled that shy smile that he had worn the first time heʼd walked into Frankʼs office and turned his whole fucking world upside down, that Frank realized what heʼd just said.  
Gerard didnʼt call him out on it, but the way he kept looking up at Frank from under his lashes, all of his earlier brazenness gone and replaced by an insecure smile that was just too cute to be legal – it drove him up the wall.  
  
  
“Um, yeah, well, I... we, uh, should get started, right?”, Frank blushed hard and started fiddling with the pieces of paper in front of him to divert Gerardʼs attention from his  
faux pas, realizing too late that even his hands were shaking.  
“You, uh, seem to be in a good mood today, Gerard?”, he cleared his throat and went on as though nothing had happened, feigning nonchalance as he tried his best to slip into his professional mode by leaning back in his chair and putting some distance between the two of them, internally cringing at the way the other manʼs face fell when he heard Frank say his name – his real name, instead of the one heʼd used mere seconds ago.  
For a moment, Gerard just looked at him, brows furrowed. Disappointment was written all over his face. Then, all of a sudden, he shook his head, letting it fall forward a little so that his face was hidden behind his black bangs and when he looked up again, brushing his hair out of his face, he was smiling sweetly at Frank.  
“Yeah... yeah, I am. I had a great time yesterday, you know...”, his voice was warm, as were his eyes, ingenuous and vulnerable, and Frank didnʼt have the heart to tell him that last night had been a mistake, just as his slipping with the name had been, that they were getting too close, although he knew he should have done so days ago.  
“So did I...”, he replied instead, because it was true, but he felt guilty all the same.  
Falling for a patient was _so_ not okay, _so_ fucking beyond appropriate, and if he didnʼt get this stupid crush under control, like, right the fuck now, he wouldnʼt be able to help Gerard.  
And, ultimately, thatʼs what he wanted to do, more than anything else.  
  
  
Frank wasnʼt big on rules and regulations – deep down, he was a punk, alright – and most of the time he didnʼt give a shit about what other people considered the best course of action, yeah, but even he had to admit that friendships, let alone romantic relationships, between doctors and their patients were frowned upon for a reason. They were _forbidden_ for a reason.  
Right now, Gerard was helpless, forlorn, exposed. As much as Frank hated thinking of him like this, as much as he knew Gerard would hate the idea of Frank thinking of him like this, like he was broken, there was no denying it.  
Gerard was an addict, and heʼd come to Frank for help – at the end of the day, that was what it came down to. Something in his life had left him feeling like he didnʼt want this world and this world didnʼt want him, like there was no place for him, no hope, no way out, and alcohol and drugs were his temporary escape, his way of forgetting all the dark thoughts, if only for a few hours.  
And now, all clean and sober, that escape was just gone, and Gerard had to pick up the slack, searching desperately for something to fill the hole it had left behind, something to hold on to, something or _someone_ , it didnʼt matter, to give him the strength to make it through.  
  
  
Broken down like this, it was only logical, textbook behavior, something Frank should have recognized and prevented from the very beginning.  
Frank was just... _there_.  
That was all there was to it, it didnʼt mean anything, as much as it hurt to admit that to himself, and Gerard couldnʼt even be blamed – it was, well, convenient. _He_ was.  
And it wasnʼt even unheard of, quite common, actually, patients getting a little too attached to their therapists, ‛erotic transferenceʼ and shit – unfortunately, though, the fact that Frank knew exactly what he was dealing with because some stuck-up psychoanalyst had made up a name for it didnʼt make it any easier on either of them.  
Frank was torn. He wanted to make Gerard feel better, so fucking bad, and he knew that in order to make that happen, he needed to be his therapist, and not his friend.  
  
  
Still, he also knew that he really, really, really liked this guy, weird as he might be, and he couldnʼt shake the feeling that Gerard liked him back, erotic transference be damned, this felt fucking _real_.  
Yes, pushing him away would hurt them both, but it was what Gerard needed, Frank had to get that into his stubborn head, it was supposed to be the right thing to do – so why did it feel so wrong?  
His hands were shaking with the urge to pull out his hair in desperation, because what the hell was he supposed to _do_ , and it took him a moment to realize that heʼd been quiet for a little too long, solemnly staring down at his hands, completely lost in the chaotic mess of his thoughts.  
Alarmed, Frankʼs head jerked up abruptly – only to notice that his hadnʼt been the only pair of eyes that had been fixed on his gloved hands.  
Frank was about to say something, _anything_ , to explain away the shakes, but before his sluggish brain could come up with something remotely plausible, Gerard beat him to it.  
  
  
“Frank, why the hell are you still wearing those?”, he inquired briskly, raising one eyebrow at the other man, seemingly wrapped up in his own thoughts and oblivious to both Frankʼs trembling hands and his inner turmoil.  
“Wh–what? The gloves? Uh, I dunno, Iʼm at work, so...”, Frank just shrugged, slightly taken aback by his patientʼs unexpected question, but nevertheless glad for the change of topic because seriously, if he spent another fucking second trying to decide what to do about his inappropriate feelings for this man, his head might explode.  
To be honest, though, he hadnʼt really paid attention to his attire when heʼd gotten dressed in the morning, he hardly ever did, putting on gloves had simply become second nature to him ever since heʼd had his own office – and up until now, until Gerard had come along with his floppy hair and his lopsided smile and his stupid dimples, Frank hadnʼt ever had a reason to question that.  
“Yeah, I know, but... I mean, you donʼt have to wear them when youʼre with me, itʼs not like I havenʼt already seen all of your tattoos anyway...”, Gerard pointed out and made a dismissive gesture at the gloves, and judging from the way his eager eyes betrayed his nonchalant voice, if Frank hadnʼt know any better, heʼd almost say that a certain someone might have developed some kind of tattoo kink last night – which, uh, couldnʼt be the case, of course.  
Because _that_ would have been, like, the hottest thing ever and the list of things about Gerard that made Frankʼs mouth go dry was long enough already – and, well, heʼd already established the possibility of his head exploding if things got any more complicated and he kind of didnʼt want that to happen.  
“Well, technically...”, Frank started, biting his lip to hide a smirk, “...you havenʼt really seen _all_ of them, Gerard...”, he winked at the other man, drawling his words in a suggestive manner and reveling in the way Gerardʼs eyes went huge at the insinuation – well, for about two seconds, before his brain caught up with his mouth and a wave of ‛fuck fuck _fuck_ you did not just say thatʼ hit him hard and made him blush furiously.  
If there was such a thing as the perfect moment for an epic facepalm, Frank was pretty sure that this would be it, because, way to go, so much for keeping his distance, and not getting his hopes up, and no fraternization or whatever the hell he should call this damn predicament – yeah, innuendo was always a great way to achieve all of that.  
  
  
“Can you... can you show me your first?”, Gerard tilted his head to the side, eyes glued to Frankʼs hands and arms, all still covered by gloves and long sleeves, and seemingly not too bothered by the fact that his therapist was seriously lacking a brain-to-mouth filter.  
“Um, look, I would, but... we should probably not talk about me, Gerard, itʼs your problems we need to focus on, alright?”, Frank almost pleaded, nervously shifting around in his chair, not quite comfortable with where the conversation was going and at the same time bursting with the desire to tell Gerard all about him and his life and about what his tattoos meant to him.  
“But thatʼs what Iʼm saying! Today, thereʼs really nothing to talk about, Frank... Iʼm, well, okay, I guess. Trust me, I am... and I kind of owe you... for yesterday, I mean...”, Gerard smiled at him, shy and thankful, but Frank didnʼt quite get what the other man could possibly be thanking him for.  
“Uh, what? No, you – you donʼt owe me, what for?”, Frank looked at the other man in confusion, wondering whether he would ever be able to understand what was going on inside of that weird head of his.  
“Well, first of all, for lying to my brother, because I know he was a scary bitch yesterday and you still didnʼt let me down...”, Gerard laughed a little and no, there was no way Frank could have argued with that, because he had to admit that he _had_ been kind of proud of himself for not running away from Mikey the day before, “...and, you know, for being there, at the concert. For making me feel okay for the first time in... well, forever...”, he shrugged, staring into his lap again, and Frankʼs heart melted a little at the thought of him being the one to make Gerard feel okay.  
He was still pretty sure he would be going to hell for this, yeah, but if nights like the last one were what Gerard needed, if that was what made him feel okay, then Frank was more than willing to give that to him.  
  
  
And just like that, he realized, his decision had been made.  
“Thatʼs not... I mean, I was just doing my job, you donʼt have to...”, Frank mumbled, feeling his cheeks redden at the memory of them being pressed together in the crowd, of Gerardʼs wrist in his hand, the feeling of his pulse against his thumb.  
“Were you, though? Just doing your job?”, Gerard looked up at him then, and Frank could see that the other man had had to gather up all of his courage to ask the question that had been floating around ever since heʼd entered Frankʼs office today, and there was a hopeful glimmer in his eyes that Frank just couldnʼt crush, that he wouldnʼt crush – fuck this, he hated lying anyway.  
“No – no, I wasnʼt, you know that, Gerard...”, he shook his head and sighed, defeated, taking a deep breath before his next words, “... youʼre kind of, um, special? I mean, look, I donʼt know much about my other patientsʼ interests, unless itʼs medically relevant, which it rarely is, and honestly, most of the time, I couldnʼt care less because _they_ didnʼt walk into my office wearing a Misfits shirt and babbling about Batman marathons...”, he smiled fondly at the memory and out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Gerard was, too.  
“But, like, whenever we did talk about their musical preference for some reason, it was, well... Iʼd say ‛questionableʼ but even that would be a blatant lie, because trust me, man, it was _shit_ , so... no, usually, I do not go to concerts with my patients and I do not cover up for them when theyʼre lying to their siblings and... fuck, I shouldnʼt be saying this, but, itʼs just... I sure as hell donʼt enjoy spending time with them...”, Frank laughed humorlessly, a shiver running down his spine at the mere thought of it, “... but, um, with you, I do...”, he admitted, biting his lip, eyes cast downward to hide the blush that was slowly creeping up his neck.  
  
  
Frank was very well aware of the fact that this was probably the dumbest thing he was ever going to do, but the blinding smile that Gerard gave him in return was more than enough to make the rational part of his brain go pack its bags to live on a lonely island with no plans of coming back any time soon.  
“Thatʼs, um, thanks, Frankie...”, Gerard mumbled, gnawing on his lower lip, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt.  
“See, thatʼs why I feel like I owe you, ‛cause, you know, you wouldnʼt have done this for just anyone, so... consider it some kind of bonus or something, not having to listen to _my_ fucking problems today, okay?”, he shrugged again, scratching the back of his head and grinning sheepishly at Frank, who neglected to mention that heʼd love to pick Gerardʼs brains every hour of every day, because that _did_ sound sort of creepy, even in his own head.  
“Oh, come on, honestly, Iʼm offering to not talk about myself for an _hour_ , Mikey would kill for that!”, Gerard threw back his head and laughed giddily, and Frank realized that the mere sound of it was enough to make him feel at ease, all the tension blown away, leaving him with that strange mixture of glee and serenity and a tiny bit of excitement, all at the same time.  
“Youʼre not gonna take no for an answer, like, ever, are you?”, Frank raised an eyebrow at Gerard, rolling up his sleeves even before the other man had started to shake his head enthusiastically, because, well, heʼd kind of seen that coming.  
“Whatever...”, Frank rolled his eyes, eventually giving in and taking off his gloves, pointedly ignoring the way Gerard kept grinning like the cat who ate the canary as he started telling him all those little stories and secrets, even the ones heʼd never told anyone before, and the ones heʼd never planned on telling.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety, coffee addiction, vampirism, emotional manipulator, definitely no tattoo kink nope**  
  
_session #6 2008/12/3  
  
_ Waltzing into my office like he owns it, scrunching up his nose at my furniture and charming his way out of my plans for our session...  
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the unbelievable Mr. Gerard Way?  
And unbelievable, he is – unbelievably sassy, unbelievably odd, unbelievably irritating.  
And yet I've never felt so drawn towards another person before.  
It's stupid and it's wrong and it's fucking _illegal_ , but right now I'm so far gone, there's nothing I can do about it.  
Gerard got clean and sober in _17 days_.  
There were no symptoms left when I met him at the concert.  
None.  
I know he can't see it right now, but I believe that he is strong. Stronger than most people give him credit for, stronger than _he_ gives himself credit for.  
And no, that does not mean my work is done. It's not.  
Still far from it, to be honest, as we've only started scratching the surface, started unveiling the cause of his addiction, but I feel like I'm really getting somewhere. Like we are getting somewhere, together.   
And it's not all due to psychotherapeutic methods.  
Being there for him helps. He's said so himself and I've seen it. I've seen how much he's changed.  
I've seen him struggle.  
I've seen him fight.  
And I've seen him laugh.  
So, yeah, Gerard needs a therapist. But who says he doesn't need a friend, too? And who says I can't be both?  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Frank had been glaring at the ringing phone for a solid ten seconds before he eventually admitted defeat and began to surly untangle himself from the three blankets heʼd wrapped around his shivering body – not so much because he felt _any_ obligation whatsoever to answer the damn thing for what seemed like the millionth time within the last two hours, but rather because whoever had invented its ring tone deserved to die a painful, painful death.  
  
  
“For fuckʼs sake, what _now_? If this is about Mrs. Campbell again, just tell her that itʼs fucking impossible to die of a somatoform disorder because contrary to what her hypochondriac tendencies might make her believe, ironically, worrying about dying doesnʼt actually kill you, so she _will_ survive on her own unless she magically catches some kind of terminal disease at her knitting club – and until then, why canʼt she and everyone else just leave me – the fuck – alone?!”, Frank growled into the phone after picking it up, without giving the person on the other end any chance to explain what they were calling about, since heʼd been sure that, just like the last four times, it would be Jamia anyway.  
Only, this time it wasnʼt.  
  
  
“Um, this is Gerard?”, a slightly intimidated voice informed him after a few moments of awkward silence and as soon as the words registered, Frank pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and only barely resisting the urge to just hang up because this was way more embarrassment than he could handle right now.  
“Oh... hi, Gerard...”, he winced apologetically before clearing his throat, “...Iʼm sorry, I kind of thought you were Jamia. Sheʼs been calling about complaints from some of my more, uh, _delicate_ patients all day and to be honest, Iʼm fucking fed up with justifying myself for catching a cold and needing to take a few days off, so...”, Frank shrugged, sniffling a little as if to make his point, awfully glad Gerard couldnʼt see his flushed face.  
“And by _delicate_ you mean completely wacky, I guess?”, Frank heard the other man chuckle and the corners of his mouth curled into an involuntary smile, although he had taken an unofficial vow to hate the world and all its inhabitants today.  
Whatever, Gerard was the exception to all of his rules. Or at least the best reason to break them.  
  
  
“Why are you calling, Gerard?”, Frankʼs voice had become a little softer, gentle, but he still quirked an eyebrow at no one in particular, wondering where the hell his patient had even gotten his private phone number – although he already had his suspicions about whom he might have to have a little chat with later...  
“Uh, yeah, well... your secretary, uh, Jamia? She called me earlier this morning to tell me that she had to cancel our appointment because youʼre sick... and I was kind of worried, I guess, so I asked her whether you were alright and she just told me to call you myself, gave me your number – and, uh, yeah, this is me calling to check up on you...”, Gerard sounded unsure of himself all of a sudden and Frankʼs much too graphic imagination had no problems providing him with the distracting image of the other man to go with his insecure voice, of him gnawing on his lower lip and fiddling with the hem of his shirt.  
It had his stomach turning cartwheels inside of his body.  
  
  
“Of course she did...”, Frank sighed loudly, inwardly cursing his mischievous best friend for being so fucking obvious about his crush on his patient – or maybe he should blame himself for _that_ part, because otherwise Jamia wouldnʼt have found out in the first place.  
Anyway, both of them were going to hell for this, one way or the other, he was sure of it.  
“Shit, this is kinda weird, isnʼt it? Oh, fuck, it is! It is _so_ weird! Iʼm sorry, Frank, I... I shouldnʼt have called, Iʼm just gonna hang up and–”, Gerard apologized almost frantically and Frank once again felt the urge to smack himself, right in his fucking face, for being so slow on the uptake today, for not thinking about what his words would sound like to Gerard _before_ saying them out loud.  
By now, he should know how to phrase, or rather how _not_ to phrase certain things because he spent most of his working hours – as well as a good part of his free time, if he was honest with himself – musing about Gerard and his oddities.  
“No! No, thatʼs not it, Jamiaʼs just... you know what, never mind, itʼs really nice of you to call, so, you know, thank you...”, Frank rushed to reassure the other man, hoping that he was able to keep the damage to a minimum.  
“Yeah?”, there was something hopeful about the way Gerard said it, and Frank once again couldnʼt help but smile. Mission accomplished.  
“Yeah...”, he whispered softly and the warm feeling in his stomach at Gerardʼs concern for his health made him feel slightly nauseous, but in a good way – that is, if that even made any sense.  
  
  
“So, um, how are you? Do you want me to, uh, come over or something?”, Gerard asked nervously and Frank not so subtly sucked in a breath, completely taken aback by the question.  
“What, so you can watch me die?”, he joked with a humorless laugh that quickly turned into a wet cough, stalling instead of answering, and attempting to cover up his cluelessness as to what to reply to the other manʼs suggestion – because, fuck yeah, he wanted him to come over. He wanted to have him over _all the time_.  
But, the thing was... did Gerard really mean it that way or was that just the polite thing to offer to a sick friend? Was it genuine concern or, like, one of those offers you werenʼt really supposed to accept?  
Frank had become a little rusty on the code of conduct when it came to what friends did do and what friends didnʼt do, because heʼd been way too invested in his work lately and the only really close friends he still kept in touch with were Jamia and James, and heʼd known those two for such a long time now that neither of them wasted a second to think about how to act around each other anymore.  
Of course Frank was still familiar with the basic rules, like, he was pretty sure that thinking about your friend while jerking off in the shower was out of line – not that _Frank_ would ever do that, nope – but he had no idea whether it would be alright to take Gerard up on his offer or if that was too much, too obtrusive.  
  
  
At that thought, a memory of the shower heʼd taken a few days ago, after his session with Gerard, flickered through his mind and he fought down a blush, realizing that he might have crossed the line already. More than once.  
  
  
“Uh, no, I was thinking of something along the lines of making you soup, so...”, Frank could hear Gerard giggle on the other end of the line and now, he was feeling really guilty and really at a loss of what to say. Fucking _soup_? Was he for real?  
“Oh, thatʼs... thatʼs really sweet of you, Gerard... I mean, no oneʼs ever done that for me, I think, not since my mum – uh, never mind... anyway, I, uh, I appreciate it, but thatʼs not necessary, Iʼm fine, promise!”, he declined politely, but the butterflies in his stomach didnʼt seem to care much for politeness, no, they were rather keen on starting a riot at the mere thought of Gerard coming over – coming over to actually _make him soup_ because heʼd caught a cold, his brain unhelpfully reminded him, because who the fuck even did that?  
  
  
It was no doubt the sweetest thing anyone had ever offered to do for him when he was ill, but that was exactly why he couldnʼt say yes. Yeah, he knew that Gerard wasnʼt technically working right now, with the whole withdrawal process and shit, but that didnʼt mean that the guy didnʼt have better things to do than dealing with Frankʼs germs and his bitchy mood.  
“You sure?”, Gerard asked warily, as though he didnʼt quite believe his friend when he had said that he was fine. Frank just made an affirmative sound, nodding his head decisively, although the other man couldnʼt see him, but he guessed that the gesture could as well have been meant to convince himself.  
“Oh, well, okay...”, Gerard sounded a little dejected and Frank had to bite back a sympathetic wince, “...I guess Iʼll see you some time next week, then? I... um, bye, Frankie...”, the other man said his goodbyes in a rush and hung up before Frank had the chance to take back his words, and so he was left sitting on his couch, phone in his lap, feeling like a complete asshole.  
  
  
Why again did he have to complicate matters with Gerard every time things could have been so easy?  
After all, he knew exactly what _he_ wanted and he knew that it happened to be what Gerard wanted as well – and unfortunately, he also knew how Gerard had most likely taken his words, and rejection was the one thing he probably shouldnʼt make him feel, especially not in his current state, neither as his psychologist nor as his friend.  
  
  
Fuck this, Frank thought, heʼd had it with playing this cat and mouse game, and before he could second-guess his decision, he grabbed the phone again and hit the callback button, impatiently waiting for the other man to pick up the phone.  
When Gerard finally did, Frank didnʼt waste any time beating around the bush.  
“Oh, you know what? Screw this, Iʼm sick and I deserve fucking soup, so get your ass over here and make me some – do you remember where I live?”, he demanded to know impetuously, but judging from the barking laughter on the other end of the phone, Gerard didnʼt seem to mind in the least.  
  
  
After heʼd hung up, Frank still had about two hours to get his house and himself into a halfway presentable state. A quick glance into the mirror and around his messy living room told him that it wasnʼt nearly enough time, though.  
Nevertheless, there was nothing that could have kept him from taking the time to write a quick text message to Jamia, before he mentally steeled himself for the unwinnable battle against the ginormous piles of used tissues that seemed to have taken over his living room.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**December 5, 2008 4:37 PM**   
_gerards coming over. gonna kill you in cold blood._   
  
**December 5, 2008 4:38 PM**   
im also gonna buy you ice cream though. loads and loads of ice cream. with whipped cream and a little cherry on top.  
xo frank  
  
  
He got an answer just before the door bell rang.  
  
  
**December 5, 2008 6:23 PM**   
youre welcome. be safe! :P   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Frank shook his head, thinking of that gleeful smirk of Jamiaʼs, the one sheʼd undoubtedly been wearing as sheʼd written the text message – the one he was sure heʼd kind of been in love with ever since theyʼd met, back when they were still wearing diapers.  
Unable to stop grinning like a madman himself, he rushed to open the door to be met with Gerardʼs equally bright grin, that grew only wider as he caught sight of Frankʼs skeleton pajamas.


	9. – in the soup (or: lettuce turnip the beet)

“ _You_ look like shit!”, Gerard offered by way of greeting as he brushed past Frank and stepped into his house without waiting to be invited in.  
“Why, thank you, no need to sugarcoat it...”, Frank replied sarcastically, raising his left eyebrow and slamming the door shut behind the other man, not bothering to hide the fact that despite being happy to see Gerard, he was in a _mood_ , because being sick just did that to him – which meant that tonight, he was better not to be messed with.  
At that, Gerard looked him over with an appraising eye once more, no doubt taking in his red nose and his puffy, bloodshot eyes. Frank fidgeted a little, sniffling and feeling slightly uncomfortable under the other manʼs scrutiny, but he didnʼt avert his eyes.  
Chuckling, Gerard just shrugged unapologetically and the shit-eating grin that was still plastered on his face made it really hard for Frank to keep scowling at him like he wanted to.  
“Well, dude, I hate to break it to you, but you really kind of do...”, Gerard bit his lip in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his amused smile, which made Frank roll his eyes in return.  
“Stop being mean, Iʼm _dying_!”, his voice sounded ridiculously whiny, but fuck that, his body was aching all over, his nose wouldnʼt stop running and most of the time he could barely stand straight because the fever was making him dizzy, so if Frank sounded a little pathetic right now, well, he had every fucking right to be.  
  
  
“Nice choice of pajamas to die in...”, Gerard pursed his lips in mock admiration, nodding his head approvingly as he stared at Frankʼs favorite black and white skeleton pajamas, which, in his opinion, were nothing but downright awesome, thank you very much, and no one, not even Gerard, was ever going to convince him otherwise.  
“Shut up...”, Frank huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest petulantly, but his voice lacked any real malice.  
“No, really, itʼs, uh, almost poetic, you know?”, Gerard chuckled again, covering his mouth with his hand in a ridiculously girly manner that Frank definitely shouldnʼt find quite so alluring, staring at him innocently, doe-eyed, and trying his best to pull off a serious expression – and failing spectacularly.  
“Fuck you, Gerard, Iʼm sick and I invited you over to spoil me, not mock me!”, Frank complained half-heartedly, because if he was completely honest with himself, Gerard could go on making fun of him all night, for all he cared, since his mere presence made Frank miraculously feel better already.  
“Yeah, yeah, stop bitching, Iʼm just messing with you, Frankie...”, Gerard moved in a little closer to ruffle Frankʼs hair, making him feel patronized and weirdly special and cared for all at the same time, “... and besides, I come bearing gifts!”, he announced enthusiastically, waggling his eyebrows and waving around the crumpled plastic bags in his hand as though they were some kind of peace offering.  
  
  
Frank eyed them suspiciously, considering, before he lifted up his chin in defiance and raised his eyebrows at Gerard in a challenging manner.  
“Whatʼs in there?”, he demanded audaciously, his narrowed eyes suggesting a blatant disregard for the fact that whatever the content of those bags turned out to be, he should be fucking grateful for Gerard bringing it to his house either way, and putting up with his bitchy attitude on top of everything else. Gerard didnʼt seem to mind it much, though.  
  
  
“Well, as promised, I brought soup – and no, donʼt worry, I had my mom make it because I couldnʼt prepare a decent meal if my life depended on it. That is, unless you count making coffee... which my life really kind of depends on, now that I think about it – _anyway_ , then thereʼs popsicles, you know, in case your throat hurts and also to make up for all the healthy veggie stuff in the soup...”, Gerard winked at him with that lopsided grin of his before he went on, counting off the items of his list on his fingers, “... Iʼve also stolen some medicine from Mikeyʼs cabinet – uh, I mean, I, uh, went to pick up some at the drugstore of course, since I didnʼt know if you had any, then I bought some tissues and last but not least, I brought Dawn Of The Dead, because I figured, whatever, you can never go wrong with a classic, right?”, Gerard smiled triumphantly at Frank, who tried very hard not to let his mouth fall open and just gape at the insanely perfect being in front of him.  
“The original or the remake?”, he asked flatly, almost hoping for Gerard to give the wrong answer to that, because otherwise he might seriously consider doing something that would warrant filing a restraining order against him.  
Unfortunately, Gerard simply tilted his head and shot Frank an exasperated glance, as though he couldnʼt quite believe that Frank was even asking.  
“Duh, what do y _ou_ think...”, he rolled his eyes and this time, Frank couldnʼt hold back and flung himself at Gerard with an excited little yelp, deliberately ignoring the frantic voice inside of his head that kept screaming something about professional boundaries, and knocking the breath out of his friend in the process, clinging to him so tightly that there was just no way in hell that this was in any way comfortable for the other man.  
  
  
Gerard burst out laughing at Frankʼs unexpected embrace, he could feel it reverberating against where his cheek was buried deep in the crook of the taller manʼs neck, and he should probably be embarrassed about it, but Gerard hugged him back and frankly, that was all that mattered to Frank at that moment.  
“So, what do you think? Did I pass the test?”, the other man giggled knowingly, no doubt completely aware that there was no point in asking because Frankʼs actions spoke volumes, but he decided to indulge him anyway.  
  
  
Reluctantly, he pulled away, still staring at Gerard as though he hung the fucking moon, and to Frank, it damn right felt like he just did.  
“Dude, marry me?”, he deadpanned, delighting in the way the other man threw back his head and barked out another laugh, eyeing Frank as though he was both the most ridiculous and the most precious being to have ever walked this earth, and Frank couldnʼt say he minded that particular look on his friendʼs face. In fact, he was pretty sure he could get used to it.  
“I dunno, man, maybe when youʼre not all gross and icky anymore...”, Gerard took a step back made a disgusted face that was betrayed by his poorly hidden affectionate smile and Frank just stuck out his tongue in return, regardless of how childish the gesture had to make him look.  
“Your loss...”, he pouted, before splitting into a genuine smile, overwhelmed with the urge to throw himself at Gerard again, and not doubting for a second that the emotion showed on his face, “... seriously, though, this is fucking rad, Gee, thank you...”, he almost whispered his last words and he meant them.  
Gerard just shrugged again, like it wasnʼt even worth mentioning, and Frank shook his head in disbelief.  
  
  
“And your mom really made me soup? I mean, what the hell, she doesnʼt even know me, like, at all!”, he exclaimed, somewhere between puzzled and bemused. Deep down, he was aware that he should have figured that Gerard and Mikeyʼs mom had to be a little nutty – in the best way possible – to have raised those two weirdos as her sons, but still...  
“Well, no, but she knows youʼre a friend of Mikeyʼs and that youʼre my–”, Gerard stopped, and Frank could tell by the way he bit his lip that he had had a different word on the tip of his tongue than the one heʼd decided on as he continued with a fond smile, “... youʼre my friend, too, so I guess thatʼs good enough for her...”, he explained, as though it was no big deal, and it was just then that it occurred to Frank that, for the Ways, it probably wasnʼt.  
“Also, youʼre sick, and like I said, sick people deserve soup! Or, whatever – I bet your mom brought you something to eat, too, didnʼt she?”, Gerard offered him a sweet smile and Frank tried his best not to let his own one falter at the other manʼs words and the memories they evoked, although they stung like a bitch.  
  
  
“Um, well, about that...”, he stammered, unsure of how to react, because he hated lying, but he still hadnʼt quite decided on how much he actually wanted Gerard to know about him and his family and the crap theyʼd been through. Not because he didnʼt trust him, or because he expected to be judged or anything, but because this was something Frank simply didnʼt want to be reminded of, ever.  
He had worked so hard to get past it, to convince himself that he didnʼt care anymore, that he was fine on his own, didnʼt need anyone or anything, least of all his parents, that he was _strong_.  
But he knew that the walls heʼd build around himself were thin, that the armor heʼd strapped on was fragile and that Gerard was just the person to find the chinks in it and make it crumble down.  
And he didnʼt know whether he was ready to let that happen yet. Or, if heʼd ever be.  
  
  
“Oh, Iʼm sorry, doesnʼt she live around here?”, Gerard interrupted Frankʼs stuttering, oblivious as to why heʼd been hesitating, and Frank jumped at the opportunity that had just been presented to him on a silver plate, his inner cynic congratulating him on how much of a coward he still was when it came to this, even after all these years.  
“Uh, yeah, thatʼs it... um, listen, letʼs go put those popsicles in the freezer before they start melting, alright?”, he changed the topic not so smoothly and made a beeline for the kitchen in order to avoid Gerardʼs questioning glance.  
  
  
“Uh, sure, want me to heat up the soup for you or something?”, Gerard had followed him into the kitchen, looking around curiously as he took in his surroundings and all of a sudden, the irrational need for Gerard to approve of his home, for him to feel at ease here, washed over Frank and he caught himself watching the other manʼs face for any sign of discomfort, but not finding any.  
“Nah, itʼs fine, I can do it...”, Frank waved him off, already bending down to grab a pot from the bottom drawer with one hand while turning on the stove with the other.  
“If you say so...”, Gerard sing-songed and hopped onto the counter without asking for permission, feet dangling a few inches above the ground as he leaned back against the wall and watched Frank bustling around in his kitchen.  
  
  
“Make yourself at home...”, Frank mumbled sarcastically as he stood on his tiptoes and stretched to pull out two mismatching ceramic bowls in case Gerard wanted to have some soup, too. The other man ignored his comment, probably because it was pretty obvious that he didnʼt mind Gerard treating his home like it was his own anyway.  
Frank wordlessly stretched out his hand to Gerard for the soup and the other man immediately handed him one of the crumpled plastic bags. As he took out the light blue container with the soup, a feeling of unease settled in his stomach and he bit his lip anxiously before he turned to look at Gerard and sighed awkwardly.  
  
  
“Listen, uh... this has to sound so fucking ungrateful, Iʼm sorry, but... well, donʼt get me wrong, I really appreciate this, but do you happen to know what your mom put into the soup? Iʼm not that picky or anything, itʼs just that...”, Frank trailed off and stared at his feet in embarrassment.  
“...that youʼre a vegetarian, I know! Donʼt worry, no animal died for this soup, promise!”, Gerard replied easily and the way this man had taken to reading his thoughts more and more often lately was seriously starting to creep Frank out a little.  
  
  
“How did you...?”, he started, furrowing his brows at Gerard as he mentally went through their conversations, which he had carefully memorized and meticulously cataloged and filed away in his mind – solely for medical purposes, of course – in search of any situation where his eating habits might have come up, but he couldnʼt think of anything.  
“I, uh, I asked Mikey if he knew whether you even liked soup, or what kind of soup, and he told me that he had no fucking clue and wouldnʼt even know whether _I_ liked soup because apparently, ‛normal people do not discuss their soup preferences on a daily basis, Gerardʼ...”, Gerard mimicked Mikeyʼs impassive voice while schooling his features into the stoic bitch face his little brother was so famous for, and surprisingly, he wasnʼt even half bad at it, before shrugging and scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “... but I was a little, uh, insistent and he remembered the thing about you being a vegetarian, so, yeah...”, Gerard finished and Frank fought the urge to just gape at him for the millionth time today.  
“I – thanks... but, you really shouldnʼt have gone through so much trouble, Gee...”, Frank looked at him fondly, before turning around to heat up the soup, hoping that the other man would just blame the way his cheeks flushed on his cold.  
“Yeah, I know... but I wanted to...”, Gerard mumbled, almost too quiet for Frank to hear.  
  
  
The quiet didnʼt last long.  
Half an hour and two bowls of soup later, Gerard was still sitting on Frankʼs counter, babbling about nothing in particular.  
Heʼd told Frank about the time he went to art school in drag, about how he couldnʼt swim and about his obsessions with David Bowie and Audrey Hepburn, about how underrated he believed Grant Morrisonʼs ‛Doom Patrolʼ to be, and about the time they skipped Mikeyʼs prom night and went to see Radiohead instead – which, in Gerardʼs opinion, made Mikey the coolest little brother ever and who was Frank to disagree – and somewhere in between all of that, there was a rather passionate soliloquy about his fascination with goats.  
Gerardʼs mind seemed to work at the speed of light, and Frank couldnʼt begin to fathom how his mouth managed to keep up with it, or how those stories were connected to each other, although he had no doubt that, somewhere inside of his friendʼs brain, it all made perfect sense.  
He had no chance of following Gerardʼs train of thought, though, but it didnʼt matter. Frank could have gone on listening to him talking all night, it made him feel at home in a weird but wonderful way and for a while, he could just forget the world around them.  
The moment was so ordinary, yet so pure, so perfect, almost to the point where Frank wanted to scream at Gerard to stay where he was when he moved to get off the counter, after Frank had finished eating his second bowl of soup.  
  
  
Biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything about how heʼd briefly considered chaining Gerard to his counter or any of his other equally illegal plans, he picked up two popsicles from the freezer and went into the living room to set up the movie, smiling to himself as he watched Gerard sprawl out on his couch from the corner of his eye.  
“... I mean, can you believe it? Who the fuck _does_ that?”, Gerard exclaimed, gesturing around animatedly, appalled by whatever atrocity he had been talking about, eyes wide and expectant as Frank came to sit beside him on the couch.  
He had absolutely no idea what the other man had been talking about, so he just stared back at him wordlessly, barely suppressing an amused grin.  
“What?”, Gerard demanded to know as soon as the silence had apparently become unbearable, which, for him, was about two seconds after heʼd asked the question. He watched Frank with furrowed brows, looking confused, and tilted his head to the side, fingers digging into the pillow heʼd clutched against his stomach, almost as though it was meant to protect him from whatever Frank was about to say.  
“Do you ever run out of words, or, you know, breath?”, Frank giggled and handed the other man his popsicle before he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Gerard huffed, affronted, and crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
“Yes!”, he declared emphatically, unwrapping his popsicle and sticking it into his mouth, almost as though it was some kind of plug to prevent the words from flowing out of his body, which had Frank cracking up and falling back into the soft cushions. He was only laughing harder, hands pressed tight against his stomach, when Gerardʼs head spun around and he glared at him, looking completely ridiculous with the bright green popsicle in his mouth, until his laughter turned into a fit of coughs and he willed himself to calm down for his lungsʼ sake.  
Gerard was still pouting and mumbled something around his mouthful of popsicle that sounded suspiciously like ‛serves you rightʼ, so Frank leaned over and pulled the popsicle out of Gerardʼs mouth.  
“You know that I like that about you, donʼt you?”, he smiled genuinely at the other man, trying very hard to look into his eyes instead of letting himself be distracted by his lips, shiny with spit and what had to taste like green apple and mango.  
  
  
Gerard merely shrugged, but his cheeks turned a little pink at the compliment and he stared into his lap after taking back his popsicle, not quite convinced that Frank wasnʼt just making fun of him.  
“Mikey always says I talk too much...”, he mumbled and by the tone of his voice, Frank could tell that Mikey wasnʼt the only one who had ever said that to him, but that his opinion mattered the most to Gerard.  
“Mikey also said that you had, um, what did you call it... egocentric tendencies or whatever...”, Frank nudged Gerardʼs right knee with his foot to make him raise his head and look at him as he recalled what Gerard had once told him in one of their sessions, “... and yet, here you are, with soup and popsicles and one of the fucking best zombie flicks ever, so... yeah, your brother might be the coolest little brother ever for ditching prom for Radiohead but that doesnʼt mean that heʼs _always_ right, does it?”, Frank grinned warmly at his friend, proud of his logically flawless explanation and after a few seconds of considering his reasoning, Gerard beamed back at him and nodded, and if it was because of his encouraging words or because of the fact that Frank had just proven that heʼd been listening to him all along, he didnʼt know.  
“I guess that makes sense...”, Gerard admitted sheepishly, and Frank rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner at that.  
“Duh, _of course_ it does!”, he stated confidently, as though everything he said did, and unwrapped his own popsicle greedily, with a weird sense of accomplishment at making Gerard see reason and the subsequent need to reward himself for that.  
“Of course...”, Gerard repeated sarcastically, “... so, how about I shut up now and we start watching the movie?”, he suggested with a little jerk of his head towards TV.  
“How about you donʼt and we start watching the movie anyway?”, Frank retorted with a knowing grin, doubting that Gerard was even capable of shutting up for more than a few minutes at a time, popsicle or not.  
And he didnʼt regret his words for a second, neither when Gerard gave him a blinding smile in return, nor when his running commentary on the movie slowly but surely lulled Frank to his much needed sleep.  
  
  
-  
  
  
On his way home, out in the icy cold of the winter weather, Gerard couldnʼt help but worry if it had been too much – inviting himself over to Frankʼs house like that, going through the trouble of having his mom make veggie soup and then basically giving Frank no choice but to watch Dawn Of The Dead together.  
Sure, heʼd had nothing but good intentions, had only wanted to make Frank feel better, make him feel cared for, because something about his friend just told him that he was in dire need of someone taking care of him, although Gerard had no idea where that feeling came from.  
But by now, he was well aware that, sometimes, even the best of intentions couldnʼt make up for... well, for who he was. He hadnʼt changed, couldnʼt.  
It was a vicious circle – Gerard had always been the one who tried just a little too hard, had always been a little too troubled, a little too eager to please, and the harder he tried, the worse it got. Then heʼd get all insecure and try even harder, and the whole fucking thing started all over again – until, eventually, everything blew up in his face.  
Until everyone left.  
  
  
He didnʼt want that to happen with Frank. He didnʼt want him to go, couldnʼt stand the thought of him leaving.  
Then, a memory crawled into his mind, slowly, hesitant at first – and he remembered how heʼd gone into Frankʼs bedroom in order to pick up a comforter to cover his sleeping friend with, after the other man had drifted off not even half way into the movie, remembered how he had instantly noticed the drawing that was pinned to Frankʼs bedroom wall, right above the headboard of his bed.  
Gerardʼs drawing.  
And Gerard felt warm.  
Frank hadnʼt seen rock bottom yet, no, he was far from it, still – but he made Gerard feel like he wouldnʼt leave, even if he did.


	10. – glitter and be gay (or: so why donʼt you blow me?)

“Hold on – no, Gerard, wait, Iʼm not sure heʼs–”, Jamia squealed when Gerard slipped past her with a wicked grin to step into Frankʼs office, entirely unwilling to wait any longer because it was about fucking time his doctor had gotten rid of whoever had been in there for more than twenty minutes of Gerardʼs appointment already – and that was pretty much all the warning he got.  
“–ready yet...”, he heard Jamia finish her sentence just before the door fell shut behind him, the soft click echoing in the sudden silence of the room, the chatter and laughter of the still waiting patients subsiding as soon as the door was closed, or maybe it was just the sound of his blood rushing in his ears that drowned out the noise – he couldnʼt quite tell.  
  
  
‛Not sure if he is _decent_ yetʼ might have been a slightly more accurate description, Gerard corrected numbly, and the realization of what he had just walked in on left his mouth hanging open in what couldnʼt be a very attractive manner.  
  
  
Rooted to the spot, he was met with the sight of a gorgeous jack-oʼ-lantern on the upper half of Frankʼs bare back, its mischievous grin slightly contorted, twisting into a mocking grimace as the muscles around his wing bones flexed underneath the taut skin, and Gerardʼs stomach sank.  
He was spellbound by the way Frankʼs shoulders moved sinuously as he proceeded to get dressed, pulling the black shirt he had been in the middle of putting on when Gerard had barged into the room over his head, so that he barely had the time to notice the two guns right above the waistband of the other manʼs jeans as he slowly let his eyes trail down his back, merely catching a glimpse of the two words tattooed around them, before Frank pulled the shirt all the way down over his torso, covering all the images and stories Gerard hadnʼt yet had the chance to take a closer look at, to examine, to touch.  
His doctor turned around just in time for the last bit of his treasure trail to vanish underneath his shirt, and he startled a little when he saw Gerard standing in the room, frozen, with his eyes wide open, mouth agape, but Frank quickly pulled himself together and even managed to glare at him, schooling his features into a put upon expression of indignation to hide his embarrassment.  
  
  
“Didnʼt your mom teach you to always knock before entering a ladyʼs room?”, Frank teased with a nasal tone, hand clutching at his chest in a scandalized manner that was betrayed by his impish smile, but Gerard could have sworn that he saw the hint of a blush beneath all the bravado. It was strangely endearing, and somehow calming, as for some reason, it made him feel less awkward about the whole situation, so he smiled back sheepishly.  
“Uh, sorry?”, he offered with a squeaky voice, scratching the back of his head, but Frank just waved his hand in a ‛whateverʼ sort of way and laughed it off, so Gerard decided to ignore his guilty conscience – and the sudden and very, very inappropriate heat in his groin – at least for now.  
Instead, he narrowed his eyes and went on, unperturbed, “... but, uh, why the hell were you changing in the first place?”, he asked, tilting his head and looking Frank up and down curiously, wondering if maybe his doctor had forgotten about their appointment and therefore had been getting ready to go home for the day or something, as he really couldnʼt think of any other reason for the scene he had just walked in on.  
  
  
The other man just rolled his eyes, though, and gestured around wildly in front his shirt, making jazz hands at Gerard before spreading his arms in a _‛tadaaʼ_ posture without uttering a single word of explanation, like some kind of wacky mime on ecstasy, and just as Gerard was about to declare him mentally unfit for duty, realization hit him so hard that he almost fell to the floor laughing.  
There was no way – he couldnʼt... oh, no, he could _not_ be serious about this.  
Frank was wearing a black, washed out Black Flag shirt, no turtleneck whatsoever, no gloves and if you squinted, Gerard could have sworn that he could even make out some eyeliner. Fucking _eyeliner_!  
Frank looked normal. Well, _their_ kind of normal, anyway – so maybe that wasnʼt quite the appropriate term to use, but fuck that, no matter how he described the way his doctor looked, the point was, he had dressed just like Gerard had asked him to a few days ago.  
Gerard was having serious trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Frank had actually _done_ this, listened to him and really taken his admittedly rather silly complaints to heart.  
He covered his mouth with his hand to stop himself from giggling uncontrollably, then stared at Frank some more, managing to keep quiet for about two seconds before cracking up again.  
This was just too much.  
  
  
Frank had actually brought another outfit to work with him that morning and apparently, heʼd even let Jamia in on the whole thing, just so he could change in time for Gerardʼs appointment, because he, his _patient_ , had asked him to, not to mention the fact that heʼd been half-joking at the time.  
“You didnʼt!”, Gerard barked out, not quite able to express how head over heels in love heʼd just fallen with the incredible dorkiness of the man in front of him.  
“I did!”, Frank replied with a proud grin, still posing for Gerard and beaming like heʼd just performed a tightrope act with a blindfold on or something equally amazing, when all he had done was put on some casual clothes. And still, there was no denying that this would have no doubt been the exact second Gerard would later pinpoint as the moment he fell in love with his doctor – if he hadnʼt been so gone already.  
“Youʼre so...”, Gerard huffed, shaking his head. He was about to continue, although he still had no idea what exactly he was supposed to say to this, but Frank chimed in.  
“Awesome? Considerate?”, he suggested, eyes glinting mischievously, “... _hot_?”, he added, waggling his eyebrows before sauntering around the room a little.  
“Actually, I was gonna say _dorky_ , but sure, whatever you deem appropriate, man...”, Gerard cracked a grin and waved his hand dismissively before moving to sit down in his usual chair, tired of standing around in the middle of the room and waiting for Frank do the same on the opposite side of the desk.  
He couldnʼt remember the last time his cheeks hurt so much from smiling, but thatʼs just what Frank did to him, and today the other man seemed even more animated, liberated even, and Gerard couldnʼt tell whether it was due to the change of attire or because he was starting to feel more comfortable around Gerard, or maybe both, and he didnʼt really give a damn as long as it fucking stayed this way.  
“Seriously, though... why did you...?”, Gerard asked then, honestly curious about what had made the other man change his mind, because, well, it _was_ kind of strange, seeing Frank in his office like this. Not _bad_ strange, just... strange.  
  
  
The one time heʼd seen Frank at the bar with Mikey had seemed like some kind of fever dream the morning after, because before, heʼd only ever seen him in his office with his turtlenecks and his gloves.  
And then, when heʼd visited Frank at home, heʼd been wearing pajamas, so that didnʼt really count. Not that pajamas werenʼt a perfectly acceptable piece of clothing to walk around in even when you werenʼt sleeping – as a matter of fact, Gerard hadnʼt changed out of his pajamas for weeks at a time back when heʼd still been living in his parentsʼ basement – but Frank had been sick and everything, and kind of gross to be quite honest, so to Gerard, it didnʼt really seem like he had been getting a good look of ‛what my doctor normally looks likeʼ... now, it _did_ seem like that, though. And it was kind of a big deal although it really, really shouldnʼt be.  
He liked it.  
  
  
“Well, itʼs not like you hadnʼt already figured out that Iʼm kind of a tattoo junkie, right? And, you know, now that youʼve brought me soup and weʼve shared some of my germs, which Iʼm sure you know is the ultimate form of bonding, Gee... I just figured we were past the point of hiding and comfortable enough to take this step...”, Frank joked, and despite another burst of laughter bubbling up in his throat, Gerard couldnʼt help but think back to how he had walked in on the other man changing a few minutes ago and how he certainly wasnʼt done looking at all those tattoos of his and how he wouldnʼt mind getting even more ‛comfortableʼ with Frank. In Gerardʼs opinion, there were quite a few ways of bonding left for them and he wasnʼt opposed to trying out _any_ of them.  
His mouth went dry. Uh oh, _bad_ place to go while being in a room with his doctor. Thinking about Frankʼs tattoos and everything he wanted to do to them was dangerous territory, heʼd figured that out soon after the night at the club, but sometimes he had to remind his sluggish brain of why he really, really shouldnʼt go there during their sessions. Or while being on public transport. Or when he was out grocery shopping. Or when Mikey was around. Or really anytime and anywhere except for when he was standing in the shower or hiding beneath the covers in his bed, in the safe confines of his room, alone.  
“No, honestly, like I said, thereʼs just no point in hiding, well, _these_...”, Frank gestured at his tattooed arms, “...or at least thatʼs what a very wise man once told me...”, he winked and Gerard snickered, remembering his rant about Frank being so adamant about his choice of clothing – which, by the way, he still believed to be totally stupid. That didnʼt mean that heʼd been in any way expecting this, though.  
“Or you just hate fucking turtlenecks, right?”, he quipped knowingly, shoving all of his other thoughts to the back of his head, and Frank made a face.  
“Yeah, or that. Can you blame me, though? Youʼve seen them, theyʼre hideous!”, he shrugged, shivering slightly at the mental image of his usual working clothes and looking completely unapologetic.  
“Frank, did you honestly put on some eyeliner?”, Gerard blurted out, ignoring the other manʼs rhetoric question in favor of asking the one that had been bugging him ever since heʼd laid eyes upon Frankʼs face today, because yeah, heʼd been nagging him about his clothes and stuff, so there was a point to the band shirt and the no gloves part, but he certainly had never complained about him not wearing makeup. It was a nice bonus, sure – but still. It felt like Frank had dressed up for him, like... like on a date.  
“Umm... in for a penny, in for a pound?”, Frank answered uncertainly, blushing a little, obviously realizing what this had to look like, “...or, you know, whatever...”, he trailed off with a shrug and stared into his lap.  
  
  
“Huh. Did I tell you about the first time I went to school wearing eyeliner?”, Gerard started, once again blatantly ignoring their line of conversation, and Frankʼs head perked up, obviously glad that the other man had decided to let this one go.  
“Uh, no, but this sounds like itʼs going to embarrass _you_ instead of _me_ and like it could actually have some kind of psychological relevance to it that I can analyze, so, um, shoot?”, Frank nodded at him eagerly, and Gerard had to bite back another bark of laughter at his doctorʼs forthright attitude, that was so different from the cautious, guarded way in which heʼd been treating Gerard only a few weeks ago.  
Distant, cold, almost impassive – now, on the other hand, Frank was smiling at him warmly and he seemed genuinely interested in whatever Gerard had to say, even though his mouth ran ahead of his brain most of the time, and this was so much more than what he could have hoped for when heʼd first been dragged into Frankʼs office.  
He wasnʼt used to anyone being so... well, _frank_ , no pun intended, except maybe for Mikey, and his little brother was a different story altogether.  
It was refreshing. And reassuring. And many more things he couldnʼt put into words right now.  
  
  
So he grinned, and took a deep breath, and told the story about how his thirteen-year-old self had one day discovered his momʼs eyeliner in the bathroom and decided that it would be a good idea to try and wear it to school. After all, all the girls from the upper classes did, so why the hell shouldnʼt he? Thinking back now, Gerard realized that, one, it really hadnʼt been the smartest idea, and two, _gender_ had obviously never been a concept heʼd understood, and heʼd never been too fond of people trying to impose it upon him either. He hadnʼt been back then, and he sure wasnʼt now.  
He also told Frank that – partly because he wanted him to know and partly because his doctor wasnʼt the only one who was allowed to say shit just because he wanted to gauge someoneʼs reaction to it, but, much to Gerardʼs delight, Frank had just grinned and told him that gender was over anyway, so he went on.  
His story ended with him coming home, all beaten up by some jocks, eyeliner smudged all the way down to his bruised cheekbones, because apparently, men wearing eyeliner were all ‛fagsʼ, a word little Gerard hadnʼt even heard of back then, much less had it been directed at him, up until that day, and he also learned, somewhat painfully, that those so-called fags were not tolerated at school, or, anywhere, really, as heʼd been soon about to find out.  
His mom had taken in his appearance wordlessly when heʼd walked into the living room of their house that day, hugged him tightly, the way only moms could, and then sheʼd steered him into the kitchen to make him coffee, because coffee was the best medicine for... well, basically everything. Or, at least that was the rule the Ways lived by.  
“So, when I told my mom the whole story, it turned out that the thing I was the most upset about werenʼt those jocks beating me up or anything, no, there had been this one girl whoʼd looked at me and told me that I had absolutely no skill for applying eyeliner and I just couldnʼt shut up about how mean she was and how much I hated her, although sheʼd probably been one of the nicer people that day, but whatever...”, Gerard shrugged, grinning at Frankʼs incredulous expression, “...anyway, it was _traumatic_ , Iʼm telling you, I stopped wearing eyeliner for more than a year!”, Gerard looked shocked at his own story, even after all those years, because, seriously, how the hell had he managed to go without eyeliner at the age of fourteen for a whole year? It was crazy.  
“And youʼre sure that didnʼt have anything to do with the fact that you might have been afraid of getting beaten up again?”, Frank asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes, but Gerard could see that he was trying to hide a fond smile at his oddities, and counted it a win.  
“Yup. Pretty sure it was the girl hating on my mad eyeliner skills!”, he stated matter-of-factly and at that, Frank started laughing hysterically, hands clutching at his stomach, and Gerard was dimly aware that the other man kind of sounded like a dying goose, but he also knew that this was a laugh that Frank reserved for his friends, not his patients. And knowing that, he couldnʼt get enough of listening to it, and he doubted that he ever would.  
  
  
“You know what, Gee, I think we need to invent a new psychological term for whatever was going on in that crazy head of yours back then, seriously!”, Frank grinned and shook his head, fond exasperation tugging at his lips as he tried to school his features into what equaled his image of a good, professional therapist – one day, Gerard thought, he would have to tell him that heʼd been to his fair share of therapists in his life, and Frank was, by far, the best. And it wasnʼt only because he liked comic books and had an awesome taste in music and was kind of the hottest piece of ass around, okay – it was because of moments like this.  
“Iʼm thinking... PDSD!”, he exclaimed, grinning proudly at what he obviously believed to be an ingenious new word creation of his.  
“PDSD?”, Gerard repeated, indulging him, although he already had a pretty good idea of what those letters stood for, and he wasnʼt entirely sure that he appreciated Frank mocking him for what he seriously believed to have been a major trauma in his early life as a teenager.  
“Yes, post- _dramatic_ stress disorder – thatʼs why you couldnʼt wear eyeliner for more than a year, itʼs pretty obvious now that you think about it!”, Frank tried very hard to keep his voice in line, but Gerard could hear that he had to grit his teeth and bite his tongue to resemble anything but a hysterically giggling school girl who was way too amused by her own joke. And although he, for once, had no trouble admitting to himself that this side of Frank had him falling for him just a little more, he scowled at his friend.  
“So, this is how this works, huh? I share a personal story with you, I pour out my heart to you, my therapist, and what do I get in return? Mockery? Is this how you treat all of your patients, _Dr. Iero_?”, Gerard complained, putting emphasis on calling Frank his doctor, although – or maybe because – they both knew that heʼd not once done that before, not even back when theyʼd barely known each other.  
“Nah, you know youʼre special, so you get special treatment...”, Frank winked at him, that sly bastard, but Gerard still fell for the flattery and his stomach did a little flip at those words, although he knew they were only meant to appease him.  
  
  
“Nice try of charming your way out of this – but itʼs your turn now, so letʼs see whoʼs laughing!”, Gerard raised his chin challengingly, which had Frank looking a little confused.  
“My turn to do what, exactly?”, he asked and Gerardʼs mouth twisted into a smug grin.  
“Your turn to share some personal shit, dude!”, he demanded and Frank laughed again, despite himself.  
“Iʼm not sure thatʼs how this is supposed to work, Gee...”, he gestured between them, attempting to make Gerard see their doctor-patient relationship that didnʼt require Frank telling him anything about himself in return for Gerard sharing his stories, but the other man just rolled his eyes because, duh, they were _so_ past this.  
“Oh, come on, donʼt you have, like, traumatic experiences? Crazy ex-girlfriends, bad childhood?”, Gerard counted the items on his list off of his fingers, casually, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Frank flinch, almost invisibly, and he instantly regretted his words.  
“Oh my – Iʼm so sorry, Frank, I didnʼt mean to, uh, oh God... sorry, my mouth just gets ahead of me sometimes... Go put that in your files, diagnosis: invasive slash insensitive as fuck! Iʼm sorry, I really didnʼt wanna pry or anything...”, Gerard felt stupid for bringing it up, he should have known that not everyone was as eager to talk about personal stuff as he was, most of the time, much less when they barely knew each other.  
  
  
Heʼd always been quick to trust people, and heʼd always been inclined to tell them way too much about himself even without being asked, and he had lost count of the number of times that that had gotten him hurt, but he sometimes forgot that other people just didnʼt swing that way, usually.  
“No, itʼs – itʼs okay, Gerard... itʼs nothing...”, Frank waved his hand dismissively, but the way his face had gone all pale and his voice was shaking a little, Gerard could tell that it was anything but okay. And sure as hell not ‛nothingʼ.  
“Itʼs not, Frankie... uh, which one, though? I mean, you donʼt have to tell me, you donʼt have to tell me anything if you donʼt want to, obviously, but I just... I _care_...”, he shrugged helplessly, biting his lip as he looked at Frankʼs face, searching for any sign of discomfort, which would have made him change the subject instantly, because, well, coming up with casual, silly stuff to talk about out of nowhere – kind of his strength.  
“Thank you, Gee...”, Frank offered him a tentative smile, but his eyes were searching Gerardʼs face – what for, he wasnʼt quite sure, but whatever Frank had found in his eyes seemed to satisfy him, in some way at least, so he nodded and went on, “... um, childhood. Never had any girlfriends...”, his lips formed into a grin, like it was nothing to worry about, but Gerardʼs brain immediately started to come up with a million tragic stories about Frankʼs childhood, his ideas ranging from bullying to abusive parents to being abducted and probed by aliens, but even he wasnʼt insensitive enough to realize that this was probably all the other man was going to say on the matter, and that it was already so much more than he shared with just about anyone.  
It was just then that his brain caught up with the other thing Frank had oh so casually thrown into the conversation.  
  
  
“Uh, what? But... but youʼre gorgeous!”, he exclaimed before he could stop his mouth.  
“I mean, Iʼm, uh, sure that women think that. Or, uh, something...”, Gerard blushed bright red as he corrected himself in a vain attempt to hide that heʼd just basically blurted out his crush on Frank, but no matter how awkward this was going to get, he needed to keep this line of conversation going, because there was a slight chance that Frank had meant exactly what Gerard had hoped to be true so desperately ever since theyʼd been at Rayʼs concert.  
  
  
At that, Frank raised an eyebrow and smirked at Gerard, honest to God smirked, at his embarrassment.  
“I didnʼt say I was a virgin, Gee...”, he retorted, nonplussed, and clearly delighted by Gerardʼs wide eyes and the fact that his face was turning an even darker shade of red at the insinuation.  
“So youʼre – oh...”, he spluttered, before it dawned on him that Frank really might have just told him exactly what heʼd wanted to hear all along, “...ohhh!”, he said again, a little louder, and he briefly debated doing a little victory dance around the office, but then decided that, even for him, that would have been a bit too obvious.  
“You like...?”, he started his sentence and Frank nodded, eyeing him warily, as though he wasnʼt quite sure what to make of the whole situation or why Gerard was making such a big deal out of it.  
“Um, yeah. That a problem?”, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes some more, obviously a little bewildered by Gerardʼs reaction.  
“No, no! Not at all! God, Frank, _no_...”, he shook his head emphatically, and he could hear a small breath of relief being released from Frankʼs lungs, and he noticed his shoulders slumping a little, looking slightly less tense than they had before.  
This was just another one of those moments when Gerard felt like smacking himself for being so weird and awkward about this – okay, letʼs be real, this and basically everything else in his life – because of course it had to come off as though he was homophobic or something, when in reality he was just trying to figure out how to hide the fact that, knowing this, he wanted to jump Frank right then and there more than ever.  
“Uh, me too...”, he admitted, figuring that this was the only way to avoid further confusion, and he was slightly surprised by the sound of his own voice – he sounded timid, ashamed even, although his sexuality had never been a big deal for him and there was no reason for it to be now either.  
Only that it kind of felt like theyʼd just lain their cards on the table, said all the things that had been left unspoken until this very moment, and now they could do something with all that new information – hell, it felt like they were _expected_ to do something.  
  
  
“Should I have mentioned that?”, Gerard added uncertainly, if only to fill the awkward silence that had started to stretch, but Frankʼs barking laugh at that made some of the tension go away and he managed to relax into his chair a little.  
“I donʼt know, depends on what you had in mind when you walked through my door...”, Frank brushed his fingers through his hair and gave Gerard a flirtatious look that was totally over the top, even by his standards, and it made him laugh in return, instantly feeling a little lighter, a little more at ease.  
“For the records, I mean...”, Gerard muttered, sounding a little disgruntled and resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that Frankʼs teasing wasnʼt meant to seriously mock him in a mean way or anything, it was supposed to make him feel relaxed – and he didnʼt know whether it was due to the fact that Frank actually knew what to do because he had a degree in psychology or because he had come to know and understand Gerard so well, but his gentle teasing sure did the trick. Somehow, Gerard liked to believe that it was for the latter reason, rather than the first.  
“No, hey, seriously, you do know that you donʼt need to tell me anything you donʼt feel comfortable with, right?”, Frank spoke up then, voice all soft, gaze gentle. This was no doubt something Frank shouldnʼt say, as his doctor, but knowing that made Gerard all the more thankful that he still did, as his friend.  
“Yeah, I do... but, um, this probably sounds weird, but I really feel like I can talk to you about everything, so... uh, well, and it helps! Iʼm sorry if I havenʼt told you until now, but the first few weeks were really, really hard on me, and sometimes the mere thought of being able to come here and talk to you about, I donʼt know, whatever was going on in my head at the time, I guess... it really made everything so much more bearable...”, Gerardʼs eyes locked on Frankʼs and he bit his lips, hoping that his words brought across what he really thought, how he felt, because right now he couldnʼt think of anything more important than making the other man see how much their friendship meant to him.  
  
  
“I... thanks, Gee, I... I donʼt even know what to say...”, Frank laughed nervously, and then he moved to open his desk drawer, “... actually, Iʼve been meaning to talk to you about the progress youʼve been making. Itʼs been, what, a little over three weeks now?”, he asked, and for some reason, Gerard doubted that Frank didnʼt know the actual number of days heʼd been clean and sober, but he decided to tell him anyway.  
“Twenty-two days...”, he said, and he couldnʼt hide the fact that, hearing it spoken out loud, he was starting to feel a little proud of himself.  
“From what youʼve been telling me, thatʼs the longest time youʼve ever managed since things have really gotten out of control, right?”, Frank asked knowingly, and Gerard nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Over the years, he had tried, time and again, and sometimes heʼd managed for a day, sometimes for a week, but rarely longer than that – and the worst part of it had been watching Mikey die a little more inside every time he relapsed. He never wanted to see his brother like that again, do that to him again – never.  
“Thatʼs awesome, Gerard, really... I mean, donʼt get me wrong, you know that itʼs still a long way until things will be back to normal, or relatively normal at least, but the first few weeks are the worst... so, I decided Iʼd, uh, get you a little something...”, Frankʼs head emerged from under the desk and his hand was fumbling with a small object Gerard couldnʼt identify right away.  
“You know those sobriety coins they hand out in AA groups after, I dunno, a year or so?”, Frank started, and now it was his turn to blush, as Gerard nodded and looked at him curiously.  
“I know it hasnʼt been a year, but having a little something to remind of what youʼve already done, how far youʼve come... I dunno, I thought it might help you to stop and think before throwing it all away, you know? Iʼm not saying that you will, but–”, Frank started babbling and Gerard instinctively put his hand over Frankʼs to make him stop and take a breath.  
“Frank. Relax, I get it...”, he said reassuringly, so Frank went on, a little calmer than before.  
  
  
“Well, so... itʼs a little personal, but... this is the guitar pick I used on my first concert and Iʼve been carrying it around with me for years now, I donʼt even know why, Iʼm not usually that sentimental when it comes to stuff like this, but I guess I kind of considered it a lucky charm or something and... well, now I want you to have it...”, Frank blushed even harder as he opened his hand and Gerardʼs eyes fell upon a white guitar pick, with a faded Gibson logo in the middle.  
  
  
It was slightly bent at the edges, battered plastic with dirty finger prints, and it was perfect. It fit him better than all the shiny coins in the world would have, and his throat felt tight at Frankʼs gesture.  
  
  
“Frank...”, he whispered, “...I – I canʼt take this...”, he shook his head a little, but his fingers were itching with the desire to snatch the pick from the other manʼs sweaty palm and never let go of it.  
“I know itʼs kinda lame, but itʼs the first thing I could think of and, yeah... please, take it, Gee, I really want you to...”, Frank took Gerardʼs hand, the one that was still lying on top of his own, and pressed the pick into his palm before closing it into a fist, and whatever Gerard had been about to argue, his words died on his tongue.  
“Thank you...”, he murmured instead, smiling, and now they were both blushing like the complete and total idiots they were.  
“Look, I donʼt wanna ruin the moment or anything...”, Frank grimaced a little sheepishly with a glance to the clock on the wall, “...but I think weʼre done here for today, and I kinda need to put on my other clothes again before, you know...”, he shrugged and gestured towards the waiting room, and Gerard wasnʼt sure if he was imagining it, but the other man sounded as though he really didnʼt want their session to be over yet, as though he didnʼt want Gerard to go.  
“Really? Oh, um, okay...”, Gerard moved to get up hastily, but then he thought of something he really needed to get off his chest, and sat down again, “...but, you know, I really wanna thank you for this, Frank...”, Gerard said, looking at the other man with furrowed brows and something about his stern expression seemed to scream that he wouldnʼt leave this office until Frank told him what he could do to repay him.  
“You really donʼt need to...”, Frank started, “...but something tells me that thatʼs an answer you wonʼt take, so... I dunno, I guess I wouldnʼt be opposed to having another awesome drawing for my bedroom wall...”, he winked at Gerard, who nodded eagerly at the suggestion.  
The insane voice in his head said something like ‛or, you know, I could blow you under the table, right here and now, since you just admitted to being gay anywayʼ but the more rational part of his brain reminded him that no, that was definitely not an appropriate way of saying thank you to your doctor. Or, anyone you werenʼt in a committed relationship with, for that matter.  
“I can do that!”, he exclaimed instead, and the way Frankʼs face lit up haunted him all the way home, in the best way possible.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety, coffee addiction, vampirism, emotional manipulator, definitely no tattoo kink nope,  
eyeliner PDSD**   
  
session #7 2008/12/8  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
today something HUGE happened at school, like, _life-altering_ huge! You won't believe it!  
O-M-G!  
  
You know, I've been telling you about this reaaally cute boy (who's like, three or four classes above me and completely out of my league of course), the one with the long black hair and those ridiculously red, sinful lips? I swear, he looks so badass that dating him would totally get me grounded for fucking _ever_ if my dad found out, but, whatever!   
So, I had totally accepted my fate of watching him from afar anyway, pining and daydreaming and drooling on my maths book aaand dying alone because our relationship is just not meant to be and we're doomed to remain star-crossed lovers forever because of some tragic cosmic interference or maybe just because the universe obviously hates me – BUT!!!  
***drum roll***  
...HE SPARED ME A GLANCE TODAY!  
I mean, can you even believe that?!  
The moment was pure magic, like, we were standing in the hallway and I was discussing the latest episode of ANTM (Samantha is suuuch a drama queen, seriously) with my bff4l, who – by the way - is so much prettier than me, like, oh my God I should definitely stop talking to her in public because I'm sooo ugly in comparison...  
But then HE walked by, wearing this totally awesome David Bowie shirt and a black leather jacket (although it's freaking hot outside, I mean how cool is that), and when the sun fell upon his FUCKING PERFECT face I could have sworn that his skin even glittered in the sunlight, I mean WTF, and then he really actually honest to God gave me a sideways glance!!!  
Like, what does this _mean_ ?! And did my hair look okay?!  
And what am I supposed to _do_ now?!   
AHHH, HELP! I'M SO SCREWED!  
  
…  
  
Yeah, “dear fucking diary”, because that's what this fucking thing has turned into. And yeah, I am 27 years old and I do have a master's degree and I totally just spent, like, ten minutes of my life impersonating a teenage girl with a crush on a boy that might accidentally resemble one of my patients to blow off some steam.  
So what, sue me.  
It just so happens that I'm a doctor and I assure you that it's a  
world-renowned technique for dealing with blue ba– ...uh, high levels of frustration. Yeah, let's go with that.  
And it's totally justified after coming out to said patient today, who then came out to me (surprise, surprise, I had absolutely no idea, it totally threw me, oh wow what am I gonna do, I can hardly handle the shock), which still doesn't change a thing, though, because, well, emphasis on patient instead of GAYGAYGAY.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Honey, I hate to break it to you, but Iʼm not gonna have to pay for that new tattoo of yours...”, Jamia hid her smirk behind the coffee cup she was holding up in a mock salute, before taking a large gulp of the steaming liquid, eyes glinting mischievously.  
“Do I even wanna know what you did to those poor boys?”, Lindsey furrowed her brows, not entirely sure whether this was entertaining rather than worrisome, or the other way around. The only thing she did know for sure was that she never ever wanted her best friendʼs misguided sense of charity or whatever it was directed at herself, because Jamiaʼs matchmaking attempts were equal parts crazy and dangerous.  
“Nah, what _you_ need to know, my dear, is what weʼre going to do next...”, the other woman pointed a finger at Lindsey, this time not even bothering to keep the triumphant grin from spreading across her face.  
Lindsey gulped audibly. This couldnʼt end well.  
“What exactly do you mean, _we_...?”, she asked cautiously, but instead of answering, Jamia just beckoned her to come closer with an expression that practically screamed that she was up to no good.  
Being her incurably curious and reckless and, when it came to Jamia, at times slightly insane self, though, Lindsey leaned forward nonetheless, despite her sense of foreboding, and fought the urge to roll her eyes as the other womanʼs voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper.  
“We are going to call Pete Wentz...”, she said, and that was basically everything Lindsey needed to hear to know where this was headed...  



	11. – seduction of the innocent (or: more than you bargained for)

Going Down Swinging,  
_Act 1_ _  
_  
  
  
“Fair enough, but, well, I bet you _didnʼt_ know that, back in the 1950s, Batman comics were actually banned for a while!”, Gerard grinned triumphantly as, just like heʼd predicted, Frankʼs eyes grew wide in surprise.  
“What? Dude, no way! Like, how did people even survive?”, Frank looked appalled at the mere thought of living in a world without Batman, and of course Gerard was totally with him on this one.  
The two of them had decided to meet at a coffee place near Frankʼs office – well, no, technically ‛decided to meetʼ was making it sound a little too simple and now that Gerard thought about it, saying that it had been ‛the two of themʼ wasnʼt the most accurate description either. He had just hoped that by putting it like that, he would eventually manage to forget about his incredibly awkward phone call from earlier that morning.  
  
  
A phone call that, despite thorough preparation – yes, Gerard spent time preparing for shit like this, damn it – had included an approximately seven-minute long invitation, in which Gerard had not so elegantly tried to work his way around just saying ‛hey, do you maybe wanna spend some time with me outside of your officeʼ like any normal person would have, so that it had taken Frank some time to understand what Gerard had been getting at, what with all the stuttering and stalling and stuff.  
  
  
Luckily, the coffee shop had been almost empty by the time theyʼd arrived – ‛luckilyʼ, because for one, Gerard guessed that their heated discussion about whether zombies would be able to survive by feeding solely on the brains of dead people instead of eating fresh meat might have freaked some people out if theyʼd been forced to listen in on it, and secondly, he suspected that most of the regular customers, who appeared to be some sort of businessmen with their neat suits and their telltale black ominous suitcases, probably werenʼt all that interested in comic books either.  
  
  
“I know, right? I mean, just imagine all those teenage boys and girls, saving up their pocket money to buy the new issue of Batman – and then all of a sudden they get told that there will be _no more_ Batman, just like that!”, Gerard snapped his fingers in front of Frankʼs face, gesturing around wildly, like he always did, and he was aware that his voice sounded a little frantic and that he probably looked as though _he_ was the one who had just been told that he didnʼt get to read the next issue of his favorite comic book, but he couldnʼt care less.  
He was an empathetic guy, who also happened to be kind of passionate about comic books, so what – he could fucking relate, okay?  
“I think Iʼm gonna be sick...”, Frank cringed and made a face, playing along with Gerardʼs antics without even batting an eye, which made him feel a little less like a freak.  
“And guess what...”, Gerard continued, starting to grin again, “... whatʼs really interesting is that it was all because of some crazy ass _psychologist_...”, he looked Frank up and down with a deep frown and then shook his head disapprovingly, not quite able to hide the smile that was playing on his lips, though.  
“Evil motherfuckers, Iʼm telling you...”, Frank agreed with a grim expression that could have almost fooled Gerard, if it hadnʼt been for the way his eyes crinkled up a little at the corners, “...who needs them anyway? I think we should just get rid of them, all of them, be done with it, you know, once and for all!”, he slammed the coffee cup down onto the table to emphasize his point, and at that, Gerard cracked up, almost spilling the coffee heʼd been drinking through his nose.  
“Nah, you know, I think I like mine just fine... I can bear with him for a little longer, I guess...”, he winked at the other man and, completely undeterred by his coughing fit, took another sip of his coffee, belatedly realizing that it was slowly getting cold – wait, how long had they been in here already?  
  
  
Gerard chanced a quick look outside the window.  
They had been talking for what felt like minutes but must have been hours, judging by the way the sun was starting to set behind the bald trees across the street.  
He knew he should be getting home soon. He didnʼt want to, but as much as he hated admitting it, he also really didnʼt want his pain in the ass little brother to worry about him, any more than he already did.  
“Thanks, Gee, thatʼs _so_ sweet of you...”, Frank blew him a kiss over the palm of his hand before flipping him off, but he couldnʼt quite suppress his amused grin and Gerard wasnʼt even sure whether he was really trying to.  
“But, seriously, why _did_ they ban Batman? I mean, you canʼt just... dude, itʼs fucking Batman!”, Frank looked at him incredulously, and it made Gerard feel all warm and tingly all of a sudden, because, well, it didnʼt happen all that often that people actually took an interest in his babbling about comic books instead of just indulging him because they were trying to be polite. He blamed it on the coffee, though. Coffee could give a man butterflies, too, alright.  
“Because that douchebag Fredric Wertham or whatever – name says it all – published a book in... 1954, I think, called ‛Seduction Of The Innocentʼ, in which he basically proclaimed that comic books had a bad influence on young people because Wonderwoman was into bondage, and a lesbian, I think, and Batman was apparently gay for Robin...”, Gerard shrugged and gulped down the rest of his lukewarm coffee.  
He watched Frank expectantly as the other man proceeded to just stare into his own cup for a long moment, pondering Gerardʼs story a little longer than was probably warranted.  
“Um, okay, thatʼs new... I never noticed...”, Frank pursed his lips thoughtfully, “... well, guess I missed out on the best part then, huh?”, he concluded, a naughty grin crossing his face, and Gerard couldnʼt have agreed more.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Going Down Swinging,  
_Act 2_

  
  
  
“Frank, donʼt you ever get tired of listening to other peopleʼs problems? I mean, all of their issues, their life stories? Without ever being asked how _you_ are?”, Gerard blurted out, without any warning whatsoever. He was staring at Frank intently, awaiting an answer to his question and seemingly oblivious to the fact that it didnʼt in any way fit in with the conversation they had been having mere seconds ago.  
Frank was slightly taken aback, but he took pride in being able to recover from his friendʼs abrupt changes of subject fairly quickly by now, even if he said so himself.  
So, knowing better than trying to pursue their original line of conversation, he dropped all of the questions heʼd been wanting to ask, albeit grudgingly, and considered his the other manʼs words carefully instead.  
  
  
“Um, I donʼt really know, Gee... I mean, itʼs what I chose to do for a living, so...”, he shrugged uncertainly, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.  
What _was_ it with this man, always saying all those things that made Frank question his entire existence.  
What _was_ it with this man, always making him feel like he was the patient and not the other way around.  
Yeah, what the fuck _was_ it with him, always crawling under Frankʼs skin like that.  
  
  
“That doesnʼt answer my question...”, Gerard raised an eyebrow at him and leaned forward to prop his elbows on Frankʼs desk, still waiting.  
“Well, Iʼve never really thought about it, but... yeah, sometimes I do, I guess...”, he admitted reluctantly, not sure where this was going. He was pretty sure, though, that he most definitely shouldnʼt be revealing this fact about himself to a patient during one of their sessions.  
  
  
“Frank?”, Gerard looked up at him from beneath his long lashes, a shy smile playing on his lips as he caught his doctorʼs eye.  
“Yeah?”, he breathed. His stomach never failed to do a little flip at the way the other man said his name, and this time was no exception.  
“How are you?”, Gerard asked, with nothing but genuine interest, and Frank realized for the millionth time how truly gone he was on this man.  


* * *

  
  
**Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety, coffee addiction, vampirism, emotional manipulator, definitely no tattoo kink nope,  
eyeliner PDSD, too cute for his own good**  
  
_session #8                                                                                                                                                               2008/12/12_  
  
This is not the first session that made me consider suicide as a viable option for dealing with this mess.  
Which has me wondering whether I'm the one who should be in therapy right now.  
…  
Gerard seems pretty fine, though. So, yay.  
Actually, I've been thinking.  
Yeah, I know it's crazy but it's what I do sometimes.  
I've been thinking that maybe, Gerard is feeding off of my sanity.  
I mean, I've always suspected him of being a vampire and you never know what those are capable of, nowadays.  
It is a possibility.  
Shut up, it is.  


* * *

  
  
Going Down Swinging,  
Act 3  
  
  
  
For a while, Mikey Way just watched as his brother paced around their living room.  
He watched, and didnʼt say a word.  
  
  
It was Saturday, and Saturdays always meant horror movie marathons at the Way house – well, always, except for when one of Mikeyʼs bands had a gig somewhere that he couldnʼt miss, which had been the case more often than not, recently, so this was the first time in what felt like forever that he and Gerard got to honor their childhood tradition again.  
As you would expect for a proper movie marathon, there was pizza, and there was beer, non-alcoholic of course, they had bought enough nachos to survive the apocalypse and theyʼd rented out no less than five of their favorite horror movies with the full intention of watching them all in one night.  
Theyʼd even set up camp in their living room, rolling out sleeping bags on the floor, so that they wouldnʼt have to climb up the stairs to their bedrooms after the fourth or fifth movie, because after hours of staying glued to the TV screen and stuffing yourself with junk food, stairs sucked and so did moving in general.  
And, well, who were they kidding, also because they still liked whispering to each other in the dark, pretending that their parents could still come in any minute and tell them to go to sleep, although they had been living on their own for years now.  
  
  
Long story short, everything was perfect.  
Except that it wasnʼt.  
  
  
Not for Gerard anyway, because despite all of this, somehow he just didnʼt seem satisfied.  
“What is it, Gee?”, Mikey asked when he couldnʼt bear to watch his brother struggle anymore, although he had no doubt that he already knew the answer to that question, that he had known even before Gerard himself did.  
“I dunno, Mikey, it just... it feels like we forgot something, or, you know, like somethingʼs missing...”, Gerard shrugged with a sheepish smile, perfectly aware that he didnʼt make any sense, but that his little brother would get him anyway. He always did.  
Mikey hummed quietly, and Gerard just stood there, fidgeting.  
“You know, Frank loves horror movies...”, Mikey said then, casually, “... you should invite him over...”, he suggested, knowing eyes fixated on his brother, whose head instantly perked up at his words, but Mikey didnʼt comment.  
“Um... yeah... yeah, I, uh, I guess I could do that...”, Gerard didnʼt even bother pretending that he hadnʼt been thinking the exact same thing and Mikey was grateful for that. They both knew that, most of the time, Mikey knew his brother better than he knew himself and after all these years, they really shouldnʼt be wasting any time on arguing that he didnʼt.  
  
  
He watched Gerardʼs lips curl into a tiny smile when Frank picked up, and when is brother started beaming at him, he knew that the other man would be joining them.  
After hanging up, Gerard settled down on the couch next to Mikey, shuffling his feet beneath his little brotherʼs thighs and smiling like he had finally found the missing piece to his puzzle.


	12. – front porches (or: Iʼll show you mine if you show me yours first)

The thing was, you didnʼt just turn down an invitation from _the_ Pete Wentz.  
It didnʼt matter that heʼd never even met the guy, and it didnʼt matter that he hated Christmas anyway.  
  
  
Peteʼs parties were famous – or, infamous, to be exact.  
Now, Frank Iero wasnʼt really one to give a ratʼs ass about names and reputations and scene politics, which was probably the reason he normally didnʼt get invited to these parties in the first place. So, when Jamia had called and asked him to be her plus one, the words ‛fuck noʼ had been on the tip of his tongue before sheʼd even finished talking, but for some reason, his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  
For all he knew, Pete Wentz had become some kind of local celebrity for no apparent reason ever since heʼd left Chicago and moved to New Jersey, famous for being famous, and for throwing ostentatious birthday parties for his dog. Rumor had it that the reason heʼd left had had something to do with an incident involving a handful of pills, a Best Buy parking lot and late night phone calls to his best friend – but really, who knew.  
  
  
Frank most certainly didnʼt, and he wasnʼt one to judge anyway.  
What he did know, though, from his days as a rebellious punk kid with big dreams and even bigger issues, was that Pete Wentz had inexplicably managed to get a foot in the door with the Jersey punk rock scene and there had been a time when Frank had been dying to meet him. Not that he would have admitted that aloud, ever, but he couldnʼt deny that he still kind of wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  
And thatʼs how, many years later, he found himself in front of Peteʼs mansion in the middle of December, waiting for Jamia and contemplating turning on his heel and heading home, because he really hated pretentious parties – and he really, really hated Christmas.  
  
  
-  
  
  
It was a little after midnight when Frank decided that Christmas parties probably werenʼt _that_ bad, after all.  
At least not when they were thrown Pete Wentz style, because it seemed as though the only Christmassy things they involved were heaps of eggnog and half-naked people making out beneath plastic mistletoes – and that, Frank could deal with.  
  
  
The second Jamia had dragged his surly ass past the gates and into the mansion, he had been hit with a sense of cold nostalgia as the overwhelming smell of pot and booze filled his lungs, strange yet familiar still, like coming back to a place that heʼd once called home but didnʼt anymore. He had inhaled deeply, and images of dark basements and grungy garages and bedroom floors littered with comic books had invaded his mind, images of band practice and large black hoodies, of being shoved into lockers and hiding his stash of rum bottles from his parents.  
“What the fuck am I doing here...”, he had mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. And of course, Jamia couldnʼt have heard him, what with the not so festive music blasting through the speakers, but somehow, she had sensed his apprehension anyway. Knowing him better than he knew himself, though, sheʼd just shot him a look, nudging him a little with her shoulder, before proceeding further into the room without looking back to see if he was following her, because she had known he would be.  
After passing through the foyer – _of course_ the dude had a fucking foyer – the two of them had entered the main hall, where the party had already been in full swing.  
  
  
And what a party it was.  
The first thing to catch Frankʼs eye, amidst the clichéd champagne fountains and the ridiculous amounts of fairy lights, had been a tall guy with an uncharacteristically dark tan for this time of the year, and a manic laugh that rivaled Gerardʼs. But neither of these things had been the reason for Frank to notice him, because honestly, it had been kind of hard to focus on anything but the fact that the guy had been hanging from the ceiling, upside-down with his ridiculously long legs hooked on the ornate crystal chandelier, swinging back and forth like a fucking monkey on acid.  
On any other day, this would have been Frankʼs cue to leave, because fuck, he was getting way too old for this shit, but before he could even finish that thought, he had felt someone slap him on the shoulder and when heʼd turned around, he had been met with a goofy grin and a flash of smudged eyeliner, and it had taken him less than a second to figure out that he was, in fact, staring at the host of this chaos of a party.  
  
  
“Frankie!”, Pete had drawled and locked him in a tight embrace before Frank could even think of protesting. Not really knowing what he was supposed to do, he had hugged back a little awkwardly, raising his eyebrows at Jamia because, what the hell, heʼd never met this guy, who, for reasons unknown, seemed to be on a first-name basis with him. But sheʼd just grinned and shrugged in a way that told him that, apparently, stuff like this was to be expected of Pete Wentz.  
“Uh, hey, man...”, Frank had smiled tightly after being released from Peteʼs surprising but nevertheless warm embrace, “...thanks for the, uh, invitation, you know...”, he had offered weakly, fully aware that technically, the other man hadnʼt actually invited him and that whatever Peteʼs relationship to Jamia was, it was the only reason he was even there.  
Pete had chosen not to mention it, though, and neither had he seemed to be fazed by his awkward attempts at making conversation, which hadnʼt made Frank feel any less out of place, but it _had_ earned the other man some brownie points at the very least, and so had the cold beer that had magically appeared out of nowhere and that Pete had pressed into his hand without him even having to ask.  
Pete had just continued grinning cheerfully as Frank had taken his first tentative sip, and now that he had dared to take a closer look, he couldnʼt help but notice that they were about the same height, although, for some irrational reason, he had imagined the other man to be a little taller. Then again, you couldnʼt really tell peopleʼs heights from tabloid pictures, could you?  
Illogically, though, this simple realization had made him feel at ease – even more so than the familiar and slightly bitter taste of the beer in his mouth had.  
  
  
So, when Pete had casually thrown an arm around his shoulders, still treating him like theyʼd been best buddies since kindergarten, and started telling him stories about how he had once boarded a plane half-naked as an eight-year old because he had thrown up all over his favorite Paul McCartney shirt, Frank had started to realize that maybe, coming here tonight hadnʼt been such a bad idea. It was needless to say that, by the time Pete had shown him the tattoo of chandelier guyʼs – no, _Gabeʼs_ , as heʼd been told – face on his right calf, Frank Iero had been completely and utterly charmed by the enticing eccentricity that was Pete Wentz.  
  
  
Now, a few hours and several beers later, stomach stuffed with unhealthy amounts of deep dish pizza, Frank was sitting on one of the at least five sofas in the room, with Jamia pressed to him on one side and a guy called John or Joe or something on the other.  
  
  
He was a guitarist, just like Frank had been. Also, he had fucking awesome hair and he was so stoned that he barely made any sense, but his random outbursts of wisdom were still the most interesting conversation Frank had had in months – well, apart from his sessions with Gerard of course, but no, he was _so_ not going there, not here and not now, because the whole point of coming to this fucking party had been to clear his head a little and come down from his Gerard-induced high. Or, at least thatʼs what his best friend had said in order to convince him.  
  
  
Meanwhile, said best friend was busy talking to Lindsey about something Frank didnʼt get and probably wasnʼt interested in. Jamia was completely absorbed in the conversation and giggling in the adorable way she only did when she was drunk, but she still occasionally turned around to check on him and make sure that he was having fun, too, because she was sweet like that. He just didnʼt have the heart to tell her that her elaborate plan to make him forget about a certain black-haired mess, even just for tonight, had failed.  
It wasnʼt her fault, after all, it was just his stupid, hopeless, obsessive brain that didnʼt want to let go of the countless thoughts of Gerard that kept running through his head, not even for one fucking minute – and at first, Frank had blamed this exact obsession for the hallucinations that had him choking on his beer when his eyes scanned the room and locked on a familiar figure. Well, it was either that or the guitar guy to his left must have slipped the same stuff heʼd been taking into Frankʼs drink at some point, because there was just no way in hell that Gerard Way was at Pete Wentzʼs party right now.  
  
  
“Ohhh, look whoʼs here!”, Jamia squealed and shouted Gerardʼs name across the room, making Frank snap out of his stupor as the shrill sound made his eardrum vibrate because she was sitting way too close to him – so, no hallucination, his sluggish brain realized. But before he could gather his thoughts and make his best friend shut the hell up, Gerard had already stopped talking to the pretty guy in front of him, and turned around, staring at them in surprise. He hid an amused smile at Jamiaʼs exaggerated hand gestures and the silly, drunk grin on her face, but he waved back shyly nevertheless, expectant gaze fixated on Frank.  
  
  
Frank didnʼt move.  
He _did_ eye Gerardʼs friend suspiciously, though.  
  
  
“What is it with you, Frank, just go talk to him!”, Jamia attempted to shove him off the sofa, but ended up slumping against his shoulder and started pouting instead, and Frank knew she wouldnʼt stop until she got her way, so, sighing loudly, he got up and made his way through the crowd towards Gerard, knees slightly wobbly, whether from the alcohol or from his crush on his patient, he didnʼt know.  
His stomach did somersaults when he saw the by now familiar way Gerard ran his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to push a few stray strands out of his face as his lips curled into a sheepish smile, and he couldnʼt help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the short guy his friendʼs smile had been directed at.  
  
  
“Hey...”, Frank smiled at Gerard and the other man, who looked ridiculously cute with his strawberry blonde hair peeking out from beneath a fedora that shouldnʼt work so well for anyone, really, and as his eyes crinkled when he smiled back warmly and nodded at Frank, he decided that he couldnʼt hate him, even if he turned out to be Gerardʼs long lost boyfriend or something, because, maybe it was the booze, but to Frank, this guy looked like a fucking angel.  
“Um, so... I was thinking about, you know, getting some air or something... uh, wanna come?”, Frank asked in a rush, eyes darting nervously between the two men, and his invitation had clearly been directed at both of them, because hey, he could at least try to be polite, but thankfully, the other guy just smiled knowingly and shook his head.  
“Nah, sorry, I gotta go find Pete and make sure that he doesnʼt do anything reckless... well, not any more reckless than the things he usually does, anyway...”, he winked at Frank and yes, in this very second he realized that he had been right, this guy _was_ an angel.  
“Good luck with that...”, Gerard just huffed a laugh, giving him a pitying look as he turned around and vanished into the crowd.  
  
  
Then, he didnʼt waste a second before taking Frankʼs hand into his own and leading him out the back door, the situation strangely reminiscent of the other times they had met outside of his office, both at that downtown bar a few blocks from Mikeyʼs place and at the concert a few weeks ago.  
Only, back then, it had been the other way around.  
This time, though, Frank was content to just let himself be led.  
  
  
“Here...”, Gerard offered Frank some strangerʼs jacket that he must have picked up on the way outside, without him even noticing, and put on his own as the two of them sat down on the deserted front porch of Peteʼs mansion.  
  
  
The night was cold, but in a pleasant way.  
Out here, they were alone and the sounds of the party inside had become nothing but a dull hum, the background music to the arrhythmic drumming of his heart, and Frank could finally hear himself think again.  
  
  
“So... how do you know Pete?”, Gerard asked out of nowhere after a while, knees pulled up against his chest and gaze lost in the darkness that stretched out in front of them.  
“I donʼt – not really, anyway, although somehow _he_ seemed to know _me_...”, Frank shrugged, still a little bemused, and the other man chuckled knowingly, “...anyway, Jamia just kind of dragged me along, you know?”, he explained before looking at his friend, eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for Gerard to tell him how the hell _he_ had ended up here.  
“Mikey...”, Gerard said simply, smiling at Frank, and really, he could have guessed that Mikey Way and Pete Wentz had to have met at some point, “...but Peteʼs actually a pretty cool guy, I mean, once you get to know him and look past all the...”, Gerard waved his hand around and trailed off, unable to find the right word to describe, well, all of this. And yes, Frank had only met Pete once, but he felt like he understood nevertheless.  
“Also, Iʼm friends with Patrick – well, sort of, you know? The guy Iʼve been talking to?”, he went on, and Frank nodded, blushing a little as he remembered having wanted to dump his drink over that guyʼs head, if only for a split second.  
“Um, how do you know him, then?”, he asked conversationally, trying to sound casual and not like the jealous creep lusting after his patient that he really was, but he still couldnʼt stop his heartbeat from speeding up a little as he anxiously waited for Gerardʼs answer.  
“Well, heʼs Peteʼs... uh, best friend...”, the other man shrugged, but the way heʼd struggled with the words ‛best friendʼ told Frank everything he needed to know and he could already feel his tense shoulders loosen up a little, “...so, heʼs kind of always around...”, Gerard smiled fondly at something Frank didnʼt quite understand, but he decided not to push it and just hummed quietly.  
  
  
Instead, he stared ahead into the darkness of Peteʼs garden – although the word ‛gardenʼ didnʼt really do the expanse of trees and flowers and fancy water fountains in front of them justice, but he was too drunk to think of a better word.  
Next to him, he could hear Gerard fumbling something out of the pocket of his leather jacket. That something turned out to be a pack of cigarettes, and the other man immediately offered him one.  
Frank took it wordlessly, leaning forward to let Gerard light it for him. With a content sigh, he took the first drag and unceremoniously blew the smoke into the night air, watching the other man light his own from the corner of his eye.  
  
  
“Frank?”, Gerard murmured after a while, and Frank had to suppress an amused smile as he made a mental note for his patient files about how his friend was always the one to break the silence, no matter how comfortable it had felt to him – but he didnʼt mind, not really.  
“Yeah?”, he tilted his head, trying very hard not to stare at the way Gerardʼs lips were wrapped around the cigarette, and failed.  
“Have you figured out whatʼs wrong with me yet?”, Gerard asked genuinely, and his eyes were round and sad and beautiful as he looked at Frank, almost as though he expected his doctor to be able to fix him with a snap of his fingers.  
And Frank wanted to, he really did – hell, he wanted nothing more than to make all that sadness, all that pain, go away just like that, but he knew that things didnʼt work that way, and Gerard did, too.  
  
  
So, Frank did the only thing he _could_ do, and he took Gerardʼs hand into his own before he could think better of it, meeting his frantic eyes, eyes that looked even more haunted in the dark of the night.  
“Thereʼs nothing wrong with you, Gerard...”, he stated simply, and he meant it.  
Gerard laughed nervously at that, but his grip on Frankʼs hand tightened before letting go of it, and Frank thought he could almost see his cheeks darken a little in the dim moonlight, although it was probably just his mind playing tricks on him.  
“What do you think made you start drinking?”, he demanded then, boldly. It was a question heʼd never dare to ask during one of his sessions, not with Gerard and not with any other patient, because this was not how psychotherapy worked, this was not what heʼd been taught at university.  
  
  
But tonight, he wasnʼt a psychologist, didnʼt want to be.  
He was Frank, just Frank.  
  
  
And he wanted to know what Gerard thought, what he felt, where his life went wrong, and then he wanted to ignore the professional part of his brain and just fix whatever Gerard considered broken, no matter what it would take.  
“Um, I– I donʼt know...”, Gerard seemed a little taken aback, clearly not used to Frank being so blunt, and he took a minute to consider his question carefully, half-smoked cigarette long since forgotten in his hand.  
“I think... I think itʼs Elenaʼs death...”, Gerard bit his lip, and Frank couldnʼt help but once again realize that after hearing so many stories about Gerardʼs deceased grandmother, he almost felt like he had known her himself, and he didnʼt know whether it was just compassion or regret that he had never actually met this woman, but he still felt a twinge of sorrow whenever Gerard said her name with that sad, sad voice of his.  
“I mean, itʼs not just that, obviously, but... she was just always _there_ , you know? Even when we hadnʼt talked in a while, I knew I could call her anytime and she would always have the best advice. Sure, sheʼd also kick my ass when it needed some kicking...”, he chuckled dryly and Frank suspected that, more often than not, Gerardʼs ass did, “... but in a good way, you know? And when you lose that certain someone, the one person you could always rely on, the one person in your life that holds you down when youʼre about to fly away and that helps you spread your wings when youʼre falling down... I donʼt know, it feels like being on a roller coaster and then having someone unfasten your seat belt...”, his voice had turned into a whisper, but Frank could hear the hurt loud and clear, and it was ringing in his ears as he sat there, paralyzed with the realization of his own powerlessness.  
“And with my art going nowhere, I just didnʼt know what I was doing anymore... and she wasnʼt there to offer any guidance and I felt so _lost_...”, Gerard continued quietly, bearing his soul to Frank in a way he never had before.  
“I mean, I grew up wanting to change the world, you know? And now look at me, I canʼt even take care of myself...”, Gerard added with a rueful smile, before huffing out another nervous laugh and burying his head in his hands, “... that sounded really stupid, just now, didnʼt it?”, he mumbled and this time, Frank didnʼt imagine the embarrassed blush creeping up his neck.  
“No, it really didnʼt...”, he answered honestly, because... well, it just _didnʼt_. Frank got it.  
  
  
“Oh, shit, Frank, Iʼm so sorry for dumping this on you... I mean, this is supposed to be a fucking party and you probably donʼt wanna deal with my problems right now...”, Gerard apologized quickly, seemingly mistaking Frankʼs taciturnity for annoyance, “... after all, itʼs not your job to take care of me and my shit _all_ the time...”, he added and Frank couldnʼt really argue with that, although he also sort of really, really wanted that exact thing to be his job for the rest of his life.  
“No, itʼs okay, Gee, Iʼm just, you know, sorry that Iʼm in no shape to actually _do_ my job right now...”, he chuckled humorlessly, honestly regretting his third and fourth and fifth and tenth beer at this very moment, “... and I really shouldnʼt be drunk around you, Iʼm sorry...”, Frank grimaced apologetically but Gerard just shook his head.  
  
  
“I guess I just really fucking hate Christmas parties...”, he added as an afterthought, but the way Gerardʼs perceptive eyes gleamed in the dark of the night told him that, intentional or not, heʼd just put a piece of himself out there that he couldnʼt take back.  
“You do? What are you doing for Christmas, then?”, the other man asked, and the question sounded innocent enough, but they both knew it was anything but.  
“Um...”, Frank started, still searching for a way out of this, for any way to reply to his friendʼs question without having to tell him the embarrassing truth, but he couldnʼt come up with anything, “...nothing, I guess...”, he began picking at a lose thread on his jeans, pointedly avoiding the other manʼs eyes. He knew he was pathetic, alright, but he didnʼt want anyoneʼs pity, least of all Gerardʼs.  
  
  
“Frank? Can I ask you something?”, Gerard hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently to make Frank look up from his lap, “...something personal?”, he clarified, and Frank just shrugged. He didnʼt really care – heʼd already admitted that he would be spending Christmas alone, the same procedure as every year, actually, so really, how much more embarrassing could it possibly get?  
“Your mom doesnʼt really live that far away, does she? I mean, even if she does, thatʼs not the reason you donʼt see her that much, huh?”, Gerardʼs brows were furrowed and his fingers started drawing slow, soothing circles on Frankʼs shoulder, and his words really took him by surprise.  
Gerard had never given any indication of suspecting Frankʼs relationship to his parents to be anything short of perfect, and Frank hadnʼt thought of his behavior as particularly obvious, either.  
Then again, Gerard never failed to surprise him.  
  
  
“No...”, he admitted quietly, although he didnʼt need to, the way his eyes had started glistening with tears he refused to let fall was probably enough of an answer for Gerard.  
“What happened?”, he whispered softly, scooting a little closer to Frank until their shoulders and legs were pressed together. Frank leaned into the touch, craving the comforting warmth of another personʼs body close to his, and rested his cheek on Gerardʼs shoulder.  
“Um, my parents didnʼt take it that well, when I came out to them... I mean, at least my father didnʼt. My mom wasnʼt happy either, with me being her only child and therefore her only chance of having any grandchildren, but I think she would have come around, eventually...”, he began, and his voice sounded hollow and distant, almost as though it wasnʼt his own life he was talking about right now. Well, to be honest, this part of his past seemed so far away, it hardly felt like it was.  
“But your father didnʼt?”, Gerard prodded gently, and Frank shook his head against the other manʼs shoulder.  
“No... he couldnʼt deal with it, like, at all. He kept saying it wasnʼt what God wanted, and for a while I believed him, you know? I even went to church more often than I already did, I confessed, I prayed, I did _everything_ to make him happy... but in the end, I realized, that... well, if there was a God, he most certainly didnʼt give a shit about me, and it wasnʼt God that couldnʼt accept me for who I am, but my father...”, Frank choked out the last part, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and trying very hard to swallow the lump in his throat, because he was a fucking grown-up and he would not end up crying over this for what felt like the thousandth time in his life. Whatʼs done is done, and crying didnʼt get him anywhere, that much he knew for sure.  
“And after a while, he left. He just... left. Not only me, but my mom, too... and she tried not to blame me, she really did, but I think she never forgave me and once I had gotten my scholarship – well, I left, too. For good. We talk on the phone, sometimes, and she always sends a card for my birthday, she never forgets... but thatʼs it...”, Frank shrugged and blinked away his tears, but he didnʼt move away from Gerardʼs touch.  
“Iʼm so sorry, Frankie...”, the other man whispered, “... I wish – I wish you wouldnʼt have had to go through all of that...”, he added, and he sounded sincere. Gerard always did.  
“Talk about daddy issues, huh?”, he joked, attempting to lighten the mood as he lifted his head from Gerardʼs shoulder and shot him a half-hearted grin.  
But Gerard didnʼt grin back. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, lost in their own heads and the other oneʼs eyes, and Frank could feel Gerardʼs warm breath ghost against his cheeks.  
  
  
And then, he leaned in, his lips merely brushing against Frankʼs and sending shivers down his spine, but before Gerard could deepen the kiss, Frank panicked and turned away his face, heart racing in his chest.  
Gerard gasped, fingers flying to his lips, as though he had just realized what heʼd done, and he scrambled away from Frank hastily, desperate to put some distance between them.  
  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Iʼm so sorry!”, he squeaked, and Frank didnʼt even need to look up to know that his friend was on the verge of a panic attack, hurt and shame written all over his face.  
He could still feel the touch of Gerardʼs lips on his own, and he wanted nothing more than to turn back time, because the way the other man stared at him screamed ‛Iʼm sorryʼ and ‛please donʼt hate meʼ and a million other emotions Frank couldnʼt name.  
And he fucking _knew_ what this had to look like, he _knew_ what Gerard had to think, what he had to mistake his reaction for – rejection, disgust, for anything but what it really was, when in reality all Frank could think about was how much he wanted Gerard to do it all over again.  
He was such a coward, he didnʼt know what the thing between him and Gerard even was, but he knew he didnʼt want to lose it, he couldnʼt, and kissing him back would have jeopardized their friendship and whatever else they had – what if Gerard didnʼt really want this, what if he was just vulnerable and Frank was taking advantage of him, and what if this would fuck up _everything_?  
He wished Gerard knew all of this, wished that he could read his mind or see it in his eyes, because Frank just couldnʼt put it all into words, not right now and maybe not ever, but he couldnʼt stand the crestfallen look on Gerardʼs face, it fucking broke his heart.  
  
  
“I– I donʼt know what I was thinking, Frank, fuck, I was just... of course you wouldnʼt, I mean, not with someone like me, Iʼm so fucked up, Iʼm sorry–”, Gerard stammered helplessly, scrambling to his feet and taking a few steps backwards, about to flee the scene, but his words made something inside of Frankʼs head snap, because... Gerard had not just implied what he thought he did, had he?  
All of a sudden, the chaos of hurt and panic and fear inside of his head turned into something else entirely, and it was nothing but hot, searing rage that drove Frank to his feet as he rushed to Gerard and pushed him backwards until his back hit the wall with a dull thud, knocking the breath out of him and pinning him to the cold wood with his arm pressed against his neck.  
Gerard stared back at him with a weird mixture of fear and surprise raging in his eyes, and there was something else Frank couldnʼt put a name on just yet, but the other man didnʼt fight back as he pressed him further into the wall and gave him a fierce look before leaning in.  
  
  
“Shut the fuck _up_ , Gerard, and donʼt you ever – _ever_ – say something like that again, donʼt you ever think that youʼre not good enough for me, because you fucking are, and you have no idea how much I want this right now, you have no fucking clue, okay?”, he hissed into Gerardʼs ear, his moist breath ghosting over the other manʼs earlobe, making Gerardʼs breath hitch.  
“But then why...?”, the taller man choked out in between ragged breaths, and when Frank turned to meet his half-lidded eyes, he could finally see the look in them for what it really was – arousal.  
“Because – because we canʼt fucking do this, Gee, youʼre my patient! This might now even be what you want and I canʼt risk taking advantage of you like that, for fuckʼs sake!”, Frank almost growled with frustration, because he wanted the other man so fucking much, and heʼd been struggling with his feelings for weeks, but this time it was Gerardʼs turn to pierce him with his stare.  
“Believe me, I know _exactly_ what I want...”, he whispered huskily, grabbing Frankʼs ass through his jeans and pushing their hips together, so that Frank could feel just how much the other man really wanted this, and the friction of his jeans as Gerard rubbed their crotches together made Frankʼs head spin – and then he lost it.  
  
  
Without wasting any more time, he grabbed Gerardʼs hand and quickly pulled him around the corner of Peteʼs mansion, away from all the windows and doors where everyone could see, and pushed him up against the wall again, unwilling to let go, now that he finally had the other man exactly where he wanted him.  
He pressed one knee in between Gerardʼs legs and rubbed against him shamelessly, his face buried in the other manʼs neck, muffling his needy moans.  
“Well, someoneʼs eager...”, Gerard chuckled, teasingly wriggling his hips against Frankʼs and hooking his fingers in the waistband of his jeans, until the other man leaned back and grabbed his wrists, slamming them into the wall behind them with one forceful movement, rendering Gerard unable to move. The taller man seemed a little surprised by Frankʼs need for control, but not in a bad way, and his knowing smirk as he struggled against Frankʼs tight grip had all the blood rushing to his groin.  
Frank leaned in until their lips were mere inches apart and they could feel each otherʼs breaths on their lips, mingling in the cold night air, bodies pressed together from head to toe as they melted into each other to the point where you couldnʼt tell where the one began and where the other ended.  
  
  
“Iʼve wanted to do this for so long, you have no idea, Gee... ever since the first time you walked into my office, Iʼve wanted to kiss you, ravish you, make you come undone, _fuck_...”, Frank admitted, panting harshly, his gaze darting between Gerardʼs eyes and his freakishly red lips, the ones that had been haunting him in his dreams for weeks.  
“Then what are you waiting for?”, Gerard whispered, temptingly, letting his head fall forward until their foreheads touched. Frank grinned and leaned in to close the distance between them, and then he kissed Gerard, for real this time, and it was everything heʼd dreamed of and more.  
He kissed him passionately, pushing his tongue into Gerardʼs mouth without wasting any time, because fuck, heʼd been waiting for this for so long and he didnʼt need to try out how Gerardʼs lips felt against his, how their mouths fit together, because heʼd known all along that it would be nothing but perfect and it was. In this very moment everything between them just fell into place, and he didnʼt ever want to stop.  
  
  
Gerard moaned shamelessly in between their kisses and into Frankʼs mouth as his tongue explored every inch of it, battling for dominance, wriggling his hips against Frankʼs to create some friction.  
Frank had him pressed against the wall, though, and Gerard couldnʼt move, so he whimpered and begged, little pleased moans and gasps and pleas for Frank to stop teasing already, but Frank had no intention of giving in so easily.  
“Whoʼs eager now?”, he smirked at Gerard before leaning down to kiss his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, nipping and biting and sucking on the sensitive skin there until Gerard was nothing but a shivering mess in his arms, gasping incoherent pleas for Frank to fucking _do_ something, to take him, to claim him.  
“Oh my – Frankie, please, I canʼt... fuck, ah, just, please...”, he whined, squirming against the other manʼs tight grip.  
  
  
Deciding that he couldnʼt wait to get his mouth on Gerard any longer, Frank finally took pity on the other man, his shaking fingers fumbling with the button and the zipper of Gerardʼs skinny pants, until he finally managed to pull them down along with his boxer briefs, and sank to his knees in front of the other man in one swift motion.  
He took a second to admire the gorgeous sight in front of him, suppressing a moan at the mere sight of Gerardʼs dark, heavy cock. He licked his lips in anticipation and gave it a few experimental strokes as he looked up to see the other manʼs flushed face, mouth slightly open and hot puffs of air escaping his lips in shallow breaths.  
  
  
Frank still couldnʼt believe that they were doing this, that _he_ was doing this to Gerard, that he was the one to make him look so debauched, and at that very moment, he was hit with a weird sense of possessiveness as he realized that he never wanted anyone else to make the man in front of him look that way, never.  
  
  
“Youʼre so fucking beautiful, Gee...”, he whispered, squeezing Gerard a little harder and almost coming in his pants at the loud and dirty moan escaping the other manʼs mouth.  
“Please, Frank, _please_...”, Gerard begged once more, bucking his hips forward in a desperate attempt to get closer to Frankʼs mouth.  
Frank noticed the goosebumps on the other manʼs thighs, heʼd almost forgotten how fucking cold it was outside, but he knew that it would only make the wet heat of his mouth all the better for Gerard – and with that thought, he leaned forward and took the other man into his mouth.  
  
  
Gerard was fucking mewling as Frank wrapped his lips around the head of his cock and just sucked, swirling his tongue around it in a way that he knew would make the other man see stars. He dipped his tongue into the slit and moaned as the familiar taste of precome invaded his mouth, sending vibrations down the other manʼs cock.  
He could sense that Gerardʼs knees were almost giving in and when he looked up and their gazes locked, he knew from the look in his eyes that the other man was close already, so he stopped teasing and took all of him into his mouth until the head of Gerardʼs cock hit the back of his throat and he started sucking him off in earnest.  
  
  
The other man was loud and needy, just how Frank had dreamed he would be and he loved every second of it, loved that Gerard couldnʼt shut up about how good it felt, how good _Frank_ felt, moaning unabashedly as Frank bobbed his head up and down to meet the erratic thrusts of his hips.  
He felt like could have gone on doing this forever and he wanted it to last, but with both of them having been pining for this for weeks, it didnʼt take long and Frank could sense that the other man was close, if the desperate sounds he was making were anything to go by, and just as he was about to come, Gerard buried his hands in Frankʼs hair and pulled a little, as a warning, but Frank just hummed something in protest and kept sucking, harder and faster than before, sending Gerard straight over the edge as he shot into Frankʼs mouth.  
  
  
Frank swallowed all of it greedily, all the while making sweet sounds of appreciation around Gerardʼs cock.  
After he was done, he stood up and gave Gerard another dirty, open-mouthed kiss, so that the other man could taste himself on Frankʼs tongue.  
  
  
“Fuck, Frank... Frankie...”, Gerard moaned his name over and over and over again, head spinning in his post-orgasmic haze, and then he stuck one hand into Frankʼs pants, unbuttoning them with the other, and grabbed his painfully hard cock, stroking it at a fast and hard pace.  
“You – you donʼt have to, Gee...”, Frank managed to choke out, although he really, really wanted him to, and he thought that maybe he might die if he didnʼt get off right the fuck now, if Gerard didnʼt touch him with those skilled hands of his.  
“I know, but I want to...”, Gerard murmured, and that was all the confirmation Frank needed, and he moaned loudly as he nodded for Gerard to go on. Then, the other man started stroking him harder, with Frankʼs face buried against his shoulder, rutting against Gerardʼs leg like a fucking teenager.  
He was panting harshly against the other manʼs skin, trying to keep quiet but failing, because Gerardʼs hand felt just _too_ fucking good and it was too much too much too much, and then he shuddered and went limp, coming into his pants with Gerardʼs name falling from his lips in a final, dirty moan.  
  
  
Gerard wrapped an arm around his waist and held him up, just as his knees were about to give in, pulling his sticky hand out of Frankʼs pants and looking him straight in the eye as he licked the cum from his fingers, one by one, his eyes never once leaving Frankʼs, moaning as though it was the most delicious thing heʼd ever tasted.  
  
  
It almost had Frank hard again – that is, if there hadnʼt been the sudden cold, hard realization of what had just happened, making him stop dead in his tracks and chilling him to the bone. His eyes went wide and he wriggled out of Gerardʼs grasp, before the other man could even register what he was doing.  
“I – I have to go...”, he breathed, adjusting his pants and grimacing at the sticky mess in his underwear, and with one last, frantic look at a very, very confused Gerard... he bolted.  
  
  
-  
  
  
When Frank rushed past Jamia a few moments later, lips suspiciously red and face flushed, heading for the door without even bothering to explain himself or say goodbye – or anything at all, for that matter – she just shot her best friend a smug grin.  
“Told you Iʼd win...”, she stated confidently, crossing her arms and waiting for Lindsey to admit defeat.  
The other woman just furrowed her brows, though, not quite sure what to make of Frankʼs hasty disappearance, but for some reason, she didnʼt have a good feeling about this – at all.  
“Um, I donʼt know about you, but to me _that_ sure didnʼt look like the happy ending you were hoping for... actually, it kinda looked like the calm before the storm, if you ask me...”, she pursed her lips, worried eyes still glued to the spot where Frank had long since disappeared into the crowd.


	13. – the doctor in the den (or: not)

“You did _what_?!”, Jamia stared at him incredulously, eyes growing comically wide as Frankʼs words sank in, in a way that would have been funny – that is, if Frank didnʼt feel like such a moron right now.  
He already regretted what she would later call ‛having confided in herʼ, when in reality, heʼd only spilled the beans out of fear for his life if he hadnʼt. Judging by the manic gleam in her narrowed eyes, though, she was even more furious at him now than she had been when sheʼd stormed into his office a few minutes ago, demanding an explanation for a distraught Gerard showing up unannounced and begging to see Frank as soon as he could spare the time in between patients.  
His stomach clenched as his mind unhelpfully provided a vivid image of that particular situation, and he chanced a quick glance at the door, trying to gauge the distance and decide whether he would have a higher chance of making it out of his office alive if he was to make a run for it.  
  
  
“I fucking blew him in Pete Wentzʼs garden, okay, itʼs no big deal, so stop looking at me like...”, Frank grimaced and helplessly waved his hand around in front of his best friendʼs face, “... like _that_!”, he finished lamely, cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink, betraying his put-on nonchalance.  
“Not that part, dumbass, Iʼve been expecting _that_ for weeks now – actually, Iʼm surprised youʼve managed to keep it in your pants for this long – but afterwards, you just... ran away? And left him there? Are you fucking kidding me?!”, she threw her hands up in a scandalized manner, disbelief clearly written all over her face, and Frank flinched a little at her words.  
“Jams, did you just call me a slut?”, he asked with an impish grin, aiming for a light tone and missing by about a million miles. Jamia just rolled her eyes.  
“Really, Frank? Thatʼs what you wanna talk about right now?”, she pressed on, her gaze shifting from incredulous to exasperated within mere seconds, completely ignoring his spectacularly bad attempt at making a joke.  
  
  
Jamia knew him way too well not to be able to tell when he was trying to divert her attention from something that was obviously in dire need of being discussed but that he felt slightly uncomfortable talking about – and, by the looks of it, she could also tell that ‛slightly uncomfortableʼ, in this case, would be a euphemism for downright terrified.  
Her no-bullshit attitude told him that, this time, though, she wouldnʼt have any of it, and he couldnʼt exactly blame her, because, okay, maybe – just maybe – Frank had to admit that running off like that after getting down on his knees for Gerard, without a single word of explanation, had not been his smoothest move.  
  
  
“For fuckʼs sake, I had no idea what I was doing, or why, and... _fuck_! When I realized what we had – what _I_ had done, something inside my head just, I dunno, snapped and I, well...”, Frank tried to explain, huffing in annoyance because even to himself, it sounded like he was trying to justify leaving Gerard behind, and they both knew that, while he could have maybe explained away blowing him in the first place, there really wasnʼt any justification for that particular part of the night.  
  
  
“Fled the scene?”, Jamia suggested, finishing his sentence for him, but her arched eyebrow and the sharp edge to her voice indicated that _she_ wasnʼt finished yet, not by a long shot, and Frank couldnʼt help but avert his eyes, ashamed of himself.  
“Left your patient all alone? Left it to him to figure out what had just happened between the two of you? Or why you wouldnʼt stay? Whether it was something heʼd done that made you leave? Whether you would even wanna see him again? The same patient youʼre treating for his drug addiction? The one who used to cope with difficult situations just like that by drowning himself in alcohol and pills?”, she rattled off the questions angrily, voice growing louder and louder by each sentence, and she only stopped to take a breath before asking the final question, the one that had no doubt been on the tip of her tongue from the very moment heʼd admitted to her what heʼd done, the one Frank had been beating himself up over every single night since Peteʼs party.  
“Did you really fucking risk a relapse?!”, she was almost screaming at him now, and if he hadnʼt taken a step backwards in a futile attempt to escape his best friendʼs fury as well as his own conscience, he had a strong feeling that she would have grabbed his shoulders to shake some sense into him. Or kicked him in the balls – yeah, probably that.  
  
  
“Iʼm sorry?”, he squeaked guiltily, knowing that she was right, but not knowing what to do about it _now_. If he could turn back the time, he would have. And he wouldnʼt have run away again. Frank liked to believe that he wouldnʼt have let anything happen in the first place, if he had the chance for a do-over, but really, who was he kidding?  
“Donʼt tell _me_ , you giant fucking idiot, tell the nervous fucking wreck thatʼs been huddled up in your waiting room for the past hour, asshole!”, she whirled around, shooting him another threatening glare over her shoulder, before slamming the door shut behind her, and Frank could barely catch his breath before it was being opened again – timidly, this time, as an insecure looking Gerard stepped into his office, hiding behind his grown out, black bangs and almost disappearing in his ridiculously big and equally black hoodie. He didnʼt say a word, and neither did Frank, which left them both standing in the room awkwardly, silent, not meeting each otherʼs eyes.  
  
  
Like they were strangers.  
  
  
His patient was rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at the floor, and Frank hated the irony of how much he resembled the Gerard from a month ago, hated that he was the one to make him look that way.  
“Um, take a seat?”, he gestured towards his desk after a while, still at a loss of what to do, but the silence was slowly but surely becoming unbearable.  
He had meant for his request to come out a little more demanding, fake some normalcy and restore their professional relationship or at least save whatever remnants there were left of it, but with the way his voice was shaking, Frank supposed that he sounded rather like a schoolboy about to be shoved into the headteacherʼs office for starting a food fight in the cafeteria or something. Not that Frank had ever done that, of course.  
He winced inwardly at his failure, but told himself to get a grip – there was no use in both of them freaking out, and Gerard very much looked like he was about to combust any minute now, so Frank figured that it was left to him to keep a calm head in this one.  
  
  
At Frankʼs words, though, Gerard shook his head emphatically, biting his lip and staring at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, and the younger man wasnʼt quite sure whether he had imagined the hint of accusation in Gerardʼs wary gaze, or the way his chin was lifted up somewhat defiantly. Prepared to defend himself, if he had to – which was ridiculous, considering that there was nothing Frank could possibly accuse him of.  
  
  
Above all, though, Gerard seemed afraid. Insecure and lonely, betrayed and forlorn.  
Frank once again realized how utterly broken the other man looked, now more so than ever, how fragile, and that he of all people had chosen to ignore all those little details, when he should have been the one to pay the most attention to them.  
Gerard still needed help, and it felt like Frank had made him take a step backwards, or maybe he hadnʼt really helped him move forward in the first place, who knew, maybe it had all been in his head? Maybe he   
had wanted Gerard to get better so bad, maybe his judgment had been so clouded by his inappropriate feelings for the other man, maybe he had just talked himself into believing that his friend was okay – okay enough to be with him, at least. Maybe, maybe, maybe.  
  
  
And in that moment, Frank made a decision.  
  
  
It should have been a hard one, and painful, but it really wasnʼt. He felt like a veil had been lifted from his eyes all of a sudden, like he could see clearly for the first time in weeks – and strangely, the ugly truth was nothing but numbing to him.  
Frank couldnʼt treat Gerard anymore.  
  
  
“Sooo...”, Gerard started, eyes hesitantly looking up from the terribly interesting spot on the carpet they had been glued to for the past minute or so. Frank could see the other man peering at him anxiously through his greasy bangs as he drew out the word in an attempt to put off asking all the questions that were clearly written in his hazel eyes – _why did you leave? Did I do something wrong? Are we okay?  
_ “Gerard, I – I canʼt treat you anymore!”, Frank blurted out before his patient could even begin to start demanding answers Frank didnʼt have... or didnʼt want to give him.  
Deep down, he figured, he had known that it would come to this, eventually – whether heʼd known from the moment the other man had flashed him his first genuine smile or the moment he had started talking about his art and hadnʼt stopped until their session was over, or when heʼd opened his mouth to sing fucking Peter Pan like nobodyʼs business, when theyʼd shared a cigarette and stared at the night sky outside that bar or when heʼd watched him fall asleep afterwards, Frank couldnʼt tell. But he _had_ known.  
It didnʼt do anything to lessen the pain he felt at the look of hurt flashing across Gerardʼs face, though.  
  
  
“Wha– no, why?!”, he gasped, all of his earlier hesitance gone, replaced by what could only be described as sheer terror as he tried to make sense of Frankʼs words.  
_Iʼm so sorry._  
“I just canʼt, Gerard, okay?”, Frank forced himself to look the other man straight in the eye to make his decision clear, his face an impassive mask that, for once, seemed to do a pretty good job of hiding what was going on inside of him.  
“No! Frank, no! I – I need you!”, Gerard took a step towards him and Frank instinctively took one back, stepping out of his reach, not quite trusting himself with being in such close proximity to the other man, not anymore.  
_I wish that were true._  
“You are confused...”, Frank shook his head sternly, willing himself to ignore the tears pricking Gerardʼs eyes as well as his own. This was his one last chance to make things right, to do what he should have done from the very beginning, to fucking help Gerard like he was supposed to and he wouldnʼt risk blowing it by once again giving in to his emotions, his selfish needs, he just wouldnʼt.  
“Itʼs because of what I did the other day, isnʼt it?”, the other man asked then, his voice bordering on toneless, distant in a way Frank found he didnʼt much care for, in a way so unlike Gerard that it physically hurt to listen to it.  
_No. Yes. No. I donʼt know.  
_ “Thatʼs not it, Gera–”, Frank continued calmly, although he felt anything but.  
  
  
He was interrupted mid-sentence, though, unable to finish the meaningless, placating speech his brain was putting together on autopilot – a skill he had obtained after years and years of practicing to make agitated patients feel at ease – because Gerard obviously wouldnʼt have any of it.  
Frank almost laughed, because seriously, when had anything ever been simple, when had anything ever gone according to plan, when it came to Gerard, but it all but took one look at his friendʼs face and the feeling died before it even reached his throat.  
“Bullshit! Of course it is!”, Gerardʼs fingers were curled into tight fists, pressed against his thighs, and Frank could see him shaking with frustration, or fear, or both, and he took a deep breath to keep himself from reaching out and taking the other manʼs smaller hands into his, to uncurl his fingers and kiss his knuckles and tell him that everything was gonna be okay.  
_Itʼs not what you did, itʼs what I did, why canʼt you see that?  
_ “Thatʼs not... _all_ of it, okay?”, Frank corrected himself reluctantly, cautious and unwilling to say too much, to let on how much he hated doing this to his friend.  
“It doesnʼt have to _mean_ anything, Frank! Look, Iʼm sorry I misjudged things, alright? I – I know you donʼt like me that way...”, Gerardʼs cheeks were flushed and he looked at his feet, all of his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come.  
_I do._  
“...I know, okay? I mean, how could you, Iʼm such a fucking mess...”, he waved his hand around helplessly, still not daring to meet his doctorʼs eyes.  
_I still do._  
“...but Iʼm aware of that now and I promise it wonʼt happen again!”, his voice was thin, almost raspy, but the determination in it scared Frank in ways that it really, really shouldnʼt have, because pushing Gerard away was exactly what heʼd been aiming for.  
_But I want it to._  
  
  
“Gerard, I canʼt, okay?”, he said tersely, completely ignoring all the implications in Gerardʼs words, all the things he wanted to say to this, the way he wanted to grab him and shake him and kiss him to make him see how wrong he was.  
He would have liked to think that he was being strong, for once in his life, but despite his best efforts to keep his emotions bottled up, the way he averted his eyes to avoid seeing the unadulterated anguish on Gerardʼs face was telling a different story.  
“But... but why?”, Gerard asked weakly, looking kind of deflated with his slumped shoulders and his haunted eyes and Frank had once again trouble processing the fact that the other man was both older and taller than he was, because right now, it sure didnʼt seem like that to him.  
“This...”, Frank gestured back and forth in between the two of them, biting his tongue and only narrowly avoiding the word ‛usʼ, “... itʼs not right, Gerard, donʼt you see? We are too close for me to treat you. Iʼm sorry but there really isnʼt anything I can do for you anymore...”, he silently congratulated himself for managing to keep his voice level, for sounding as numb as his words suggested he was – then, after a few seconds, he just wanted to slap himself for that thought.  
“What the fuck, Frank? Iʼve gotten so much better, thanks to _you_! We canʼt just stop now, what if...”, Gerard bit his lip, obviously turning his next words over in his head before saying them out loud, “...what if I relapse?”, he whispered then, falteringly.  
  
  
It was a low blow. Frank knew and so did Gerard, but he was seemingly desperate enough or just past the point of giving a fuck – Frank couldnʼt blame him either way.  
His stomach churned at the thought of Gerard relapsing, though, and he wished that he could just make the other man see that that was precisely what he was trying to prevent by taking such desperate measures – telling him, however, would kind of defeat the purpose of Frankʼs not so well thought out plan, and, knowing Gerard, he had his doubts that the other man would even listen to his reasoning anyway.  
“I, uh, I could recommend a colleague of mine. I assure you that heʼs as good as I am – hell, maybe even better...”, Frank offered with a self-deprecating, dry laugh, suddenly feeling tired, tired of pretending, tired of lying, tired of holding back, of half-truths and fake smiles and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and hide under his covers until the dreadful feeling of emptiness and sadness went away, or began to fade into numbness at the very least.  
Just as Frank was ready to plunge into his sea of self-pity, a vicious voice inside of his head reminded him that his feelings were nothing, compared to what Gerard had to be going through right now.  
“Fuck that, I donʼt want him, or her, or _anyone_ else, period! I want _you_!”, Gerard exclaimed furiously, a frantic edge to his voice as he threw his hands up in a seemingly vain attempt to vent his frustration.  
_I want you, too._  
“Stop saying that, please...”, Frank all but begged, his feigned armor of indifference cracking a little for the first time upon hearing the words he wanted so badly to be the truth.  
“Why? Thatʼs just how it is, Frank, even if you donʼt wanna hear it, ‛cause that doesnʼt make it any less true! And what about ‛speak your thoughts, Gerardʼ and ‛open up, Gerardʼ and ‛just let go, Gerardʼ, huh? What happened to that?”, Gerard stared at him with wide, crazy eyes and Frank couldnʼt help but flinch at his outburst.  
_Do you even know whatʼs true and what isnʼt? Do you?_  
“This is... inappropriate...”, he murmured stiffly, once again disgustingly proud at how detached he could make himself sound, although he was far from it, and hating it at the same time.  
“ _In– inappropriate_? Are you serious right now? For fuckʼs sake, I said Iʼd stop, okay? What else do you want me to do? Iʼll never do it again, I promise...”, Gerard almost whined, “... I was honest about my feelings and so were you...”, he shrugged nonchalantly, as though he didnʼt care, but Frank could see his face burning up behind his bangs, pale skin sprinkled with red blotches.  
_I wasnʼt._  
“... so letʼs forget it and just move the fuck on! I donʼt give a damn about what happened, I still want you to treat me!”, Gerard looked at him with furrowed brows and a slightly protruding lip, clearly at a loss of what to do.  
“Well, I canʼt!”, Frank repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, but, much to his own surprise, he realized that it didnʼt get any easier, now matter how often he said the words.  
“Canʼt or wonʼt?”, Gerard snapped, frustration and anger finally winning over and drowning out his desperate hopefulness.  
His narrowed eyes were all the proof Frank needed that Gerard was done playing nice.  
_Both?  
  
  
_ “I donʼt want to!”, Frank shot back, the words coming out harsher than he had meant them, and he watched Gerardʼs face fall as the lie sank in.  
He almost took it back, wanting – no, _needing_ to wipe that excruciating expression off of Gerardʼs face and make sure he never looked at him like that again. But the rational part of his brain realized that he had him now, and that, if he really wanted to help his friend, he needed to keep going, needed to drive the knife deeper into Gerardʼs body and twist it until the other man had nothing left to say to him.  
“Look, itʼs... too much, okay? _Youʼre_ too much... I have other patients to take care of, I canʼt spend all my time with you, so...”, Frank cringed inwardly at his own words, helplessly witnessing how his friendʼs face turned completely blank.  
“So, you donʼt care, do you? This... everything... it was just – it didnʼt mean _anything_ to you? At all?”, Gerardʼs voice was numb, void of any emotion, and the coldness of it sent shivers down Frankʼs spine.  
“It was just my job, Gerard, you knew that...”, he murmured quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as though that would make it less hurtful.  
“Just – just your job. Right...”, Gerard nodded jerkily, more to himself than to anyone else, “right... I – Iʼm sorry...”, he apologized bitterly and backed away like heʼd been burned, and this time, Frank gave in to his heart rather than his brain and reached out for his friend, but his fingers only grasped at thin air.  
“No, donʼt be, itʼs not your–”, he couldnʼt help but try to reduce the damage heʼd done, although he was dimly aware that it was much too late for that. Nevertheless, he was prepared to throw caution into the wind and ignore all of his earlier plans, but Gerard only flinched away.  
“Yes. Yes, it is. Sorry I believed that there was more to, well – nevermind...”, Gerard took a deep breath and turned around on shaky legs, leaving Frank standing there with his mouth wide open, about to say something, _anything_ , but no words came out.  
As he watched Gerardʼs retreating back, he only had one thought in mind.  
_Come back.  
  
  
-  
  
  
_A little over three weeks later, Frank blinked awake, instinctively pulling the covers over his head to shield his tired eyes from the much too bright sunlight filtering through the blinds. He curled himself up into a tight ball under the warm, cozy blanket, not yet ready to leave his bed and acknowledge that a new day had begun.  
Covered from head to toe – there had to be _some_ advantages to being a midget – he smacked his lips a few times before pressing his face back into the pillow, intent on going back to sleep and putting off facing the world and his life and the messes heʼd made for at least another hour or so, just like he had done for the past 23 days, not that he had counted or anything.  
But something made him stir again, a noise his sleepy brain couldnʼt quite place, not at – he peeped out from beneath his blanket to steal a glance at his alarm clock – oh, well, eleven twenty something.   
Groaning loudly, he threw off his blanket, regretting it the instant the cold air hit his bare skin, and stared at the ceiling. At least now he was fully awake, and when the unpleasant noise that had woken him up reached his ears again, he finally recognized it as his door bell.  
  
  
With another annoyed grimace at his alarm clock, Frank figured that, no, at this hour of the day he couldnʼt really get away with throwing a fit about having been woken too damn early in the fucking morning on a Sunday. Besides, whoever had been ringing his doorbell for what must have been at least ten minutes now obviously wasnʼt going to leave any time soon, no matter how badly Frank wanted to pretend that he just wasnʼt at home – well, so much for his plan B.  
  
  
It was probably Jamia anyway, trying to put a stop to the hermit existence he had taken a liking to exactly 23 days – uh, roughly three weeks ago, for no particular reason.  
So far, her attempts, both the creative ones and the ones involving brute force, had proven rather ineffective.  
She was persistent, though, he had to give her that, and also smart enough not to bring up a certain patientʼs name, not anymore, because from his overly dramatic reactions to it, she had most likely gathered that if there was anything that made Frank want to hide in the safe confines of his bedroom even more than he already did, it was the prospect of walking down the street and running into Gerard Way. Or walking down the street and seeing something that reminded him of Gerard Way. Or just walking down the street, really, because _everything_ reminded him of Gerard fucking Way.  
Frank swung his legs out of his bed and grabbed an old shirt from the dirty pile of laundry in the corner of the room, not even bothering to sniff at it before he shrugged it on, and grudgingly made his way towards his front door, still in his boxers and with a severe case of ridiculously messy bed hair. He didnʼt give a fuck, though, and whoever forced him to engage in any kind of social interaction today would just have to deal with it, because he firmly believed that it was his fucking prerogative to be completely antisocial on his only free day of the week and no one was going to convince him otherwise, so fuck you very much.  
  
  
The last person he expected to see when he pulled his door open was a very, very pissed off Mikey Way.  
  
  
Frank was about to open his mouth, although he had no idea what to say or whether it would have been smart to say anything at all, but he didnʼt even get the chance to blunder before Mikey roughly pushed him aside and all but stomped into Frankʼs house, not bothering to wait for an invitation of any sort.  
“No...”, Mikey began, although Frank still hadnʼt said anything, and considering the murderous look on his friendʼs unusually indignant face, he didnʼt really plan on doing so any time soon, “... donʼt you dare trying to make excuses right now, Frank! Iʼve had it with you and that pigheaded, self-pitying, idiot brother of mine and the stupid little game the two of you are playing, so shut – the fuck – up! _Iʼm_ talking now, and _youʼre_ gonna listen!”, he spun around and glared at Frank, who was still hovering in the doorway, with a scared look in his eyes that clearly indicated that his flight instinct was about to kick in.  
Being stared down like that, he felt even smaller in comparison to the other man than he usually did, and any protest he might have thought of uttering died on his tongue at the sight of the manic gleam in Mikeyʼs eyes.  
Frank gulped audibly. For some reason, right now he really fucking wished it had been Jamia on the other side of the door, suddenly very eager to participate in whatever stupid shit sheʼd planned to get him out of the house.  
_Anything_ but this, really.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Frankʼs feet were leaden as he stepped out of his front door, crushing the freshly fallen snow underneath his black leather boots. An icy breeze blew snowflakes into his hair, and he wrapped his scarf a little tighter around his neck to shield himself from the cold.  
He blinked a few times, the dim sunlight filtering through the dark grey clouds stung his tired eyes as he took in the overwhelming whiteness of the snow all around him.  
  
  
It had been snowing all night.  
The bare trees were covered in a thick layer of tiny, glistening snowflakes, reflecting the sunlight and making the branches bend under their weight, and so was the street that stretched out in front of him, the snow so high that it was almost impossible to tell where the sidewalk ended and where the street began.  
  
  
It was beautiful.  
  
  
Frank couldnʼt find it in him to give a fuck, though.  
Mikeyʼs words from a few days ago were still echoing in his head, loud and clear, slowly but steadily eating away at the warm blanket of apathy he had wrapped himself in, laying bare the feelings of anguish and guilt and remorse underneath.  
  
  
_He hasnʼt left the house in weeks.  
He refuses to talk to anyone but me.  
He doesnʼt eat, he barely sleeps, he just stares into space.  
  
  
_ Frank had willfully ignored the missed calls heʼd had from Brian in an equally desperate and futile attempt to push all of his thoughts of Gerard Way to the very back of his mind, hoping that they would eventually just fade into nothingness, telling himself that Brian would probably call again in case it had been about anything of importance.  
If he was completely honest with himself, though, he had known all along that there was only one reasonable explanation for why his colleague had been trying to reach him – Gerard hadnʼt shown up to any of the appointments Frank had made for him.  
  
  
He clenched his fists into tight balls inside of the pockets of his jacket, kicking a little at the powder snow to his feet as he trudged along the street that lead to the coffee shop near his office, ashamed of his own selfishness.  
It was the next thing Mikey had said that really made Frankʼs guts twist, though.  
  
  
_I donʼt think Iʼve seen him draw a single thing ever since, not even a fucking sketch on a napkin.  
  
_  
Frank gritted his teeth and clenched his fists even tighter, digging his fingernails into his palms until it felt like the thin skin above his knuckles was about to tear.  
The pain was oddly comforting.  
He knew what drawing meant to Gerard, he knew that art was his way of expressing his feelings, venting his anger and frustration and sadness, dealing with his problems.  
The fact that Gerard wasnʼt drawing meant that he wasnʼt dealing.  
And both Mikey and Frank knew what that would inevitably lead to, even if the older man hadnʼt said it out loud – and yet, the sound of his voice ringing in Frankʼs ears made it seem so much more dangerous, so much more real.  
  
  
_He_ _ʼ_ _s about to break, Frank.  
  
_  
And maybe that was just what he had needed to hear to finally snap out of it, to get his shit together and take care of the mess heʼd made.  
Unclenching his fists, Frank straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, and kept walking, feet steady despite the storm brewing in his chest.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Gerard was lying on the hard and unforgiving wooden floor of Mikeyʼs apartment when he heard the soft, tentative knock on the door. For how long he had been lying there – he couldnʼt tell. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. It was a blur.  
Lately, everything was a blur.  
  
  
Gerard had been staring at the ceiling, unblinkingly, until its hideously boring pattern, too, had become a blurry mess. His head hurt from the lack of sleep, and so did his back – so, hours, probably – but the dull, physical pain seemed so unreal these days, so far away, almost like it wasnʼt his own. Or like an out-of-body experience, he mused, like he was merely observing and not really feeling, not really there.  
Gerard had always secretly found the idea of out-of-body experiences kind of cool – after all, it was like being a ghost, only... not forever. Like a temporary undead status in D&D, really.  
Now that he got a glimpse of what it might feel like, though, he wasnʼt so keen on experiencing it for real anymore.  
  
  
Gerard slowly turned his head towards the direction where the sound that had pulled him from his thoughts had come from, a sound so soft he wasnʼt even sure whether he had maybe just imagined it.  
He stared at the door, waiting, no intention of getting up any time soon. He was about to return his gaze to the captivating water stains on the ceiling, when he heard it again – this time a little louder, a little more decisive.  
Mikey, Gerardʼs brain unhelpfully supplied, before he remembered that, unlike Gerard himself, his little brother had an actual job with actual working hours and therefore wouldnʼt be home until 7. Gerard had of course no idea what time it was – hell, most of the time he didnʼt even know which day of the week it was – but a quick glance out the living room window behind him told him that it wasnʼt even dark outside yet. Moreover, Mikey had a key, it was his apartment after all, his apartment that Gerard had invaded like a parasite, so he quickly dismissed the idea.  
He wasnʼt really in the mood to face anyone but Mikey, though. Even if it was probably just the mail man or something, opening the door and talking to another human being seemed like so much effort at the moment. But as much as he would have liked to simply stay on the floor and pretend he wasnʼt home, some part of his brain, seemingly the only one that was functioning at the moment, was still aware that it might be something important and it really wasnʼt that big a deal to just open the fucking door.  
He owed Mikey that much, at least.  
  
  
“Go – away!”, the words were spat into his face with as much venom as a sleep-deprived, hasnʼt-had-a-shower-in-three-weeks, mopish artist could possibly muster before the door was slammed into his face, leaving Frank standing there, mouth agape and at a loss of how to proceed.  
In his head, he had had it worked out perfectly. Heʼd knock on Gerardʼs door, of course having prepared a speech on the way, with explanations and begging for forgiveness and apologies in all the right places, and then Gerard would grudgingly forgive him and then they would kiss and make up and live happily ever after. Or something like that.  
The possibility that Gerard wouldnʼt even give him the chance to explain, however, hadnʼt really entered his mind.  
  
  
Frank had known that this wasnʼt going to be easy, sure, but not even hearing him out did seem a little unfair of his former patient and for a tiny fraction of a moment, he was tempted to stomp his foot on the ground and demand a hearing – then he remembered their last conversation, though, remembered the horrible things heʼd said, good intentions or not, and he instantly felt like a dick for expecting Gerard to even listen to him, let alone invite him in.  
Realizing that, standing in front of the closed door of Mikeyʼs apartment, fingers clutching onto a scalding hot coffee from Gerardʼs favorite coffee place, it occurred to him that he maybe should have thought this through better.  
Well, there was no turning back now...  
  
  
“Gerard?”, he asked meekly, not really expecting an answer, yet still disappointed when he didnʼt get one.  
He deserved this, he knew he did, but when the snow on Mikeyʼs doorstep started to melt underneath his feet and seep through his boots, the ice-cold water no doubt making a beeline for his socks, Frank made a solemn resolve to wait until summer if he ever felt like being a complete asshole to anyone ever again, so he could at least get a nice tan while standing outside of their door, asking for forgiveness, instead of freezing his ass off.  
“Gerard, can we please talk?”, he tried again, but he was once more met with stubborn silence.  
Frank sighed. He hadnʼt planned on playing his trump card so early in the game, but right now he really didnʼt see any other way.  
  
  
“I have coffee?”, he shrugged, holding out the steaming paper cup like a peace offering, hoping that Gerard was watching through the peephole.  
At the prospect of coffee, Gerard never being one to disappoint, the door finally opened the tiniest little crack and pale fingers stretched out towards Frank – well, who was he kidding, towards the coffee. Still, Frank had to suppress a smug smile at his small victory as his friend was wordlessly making grabby hands for the hot, brown liquid that he had proclaimed his life juice on more than just one occasion.  
He carefully pushed the paper cup into the other manʼs outstretched hand, resisting the urge to ‛unintentionallyʼ brush his fingers against Gerardʼs, and tried not to scowl when the door was instantly shut again as soon as Gerard had securely taken the coffee into his lair.  
Baby steps, Frank reminded himself, baby steps.  
  
  
“What do you want, Frank?”, Gerard finally asked after what felt like an eternity, sighing heavily, and even with the thick, wooden door in between them, Frank could clearly hear the unadulterated exasperation in Gerardʼs voice.  
He couldnʼt quite decide whether to feel relieved or worried that all the anger from before had apparently dissipated – just to be replaced by resignation.  
“I... I came to explain...”, Frank started lamely, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his feeble attempt at sounding confident of his own explanation. He wasnʼt at all surprised at the lack of a response – he knew that he would have to give Gerard more than that. He knew that Gerard _deserved_ more than that.  
And yet, after a few seconds, he heard Gerard letting himself fall back against the other side of the door, sliding down to the floor, pale fingers still undoubtedly clutching onto his coffee as he silently waited for Frank to continue.  
  
  
Grudgingly accepting that permission to explain was all he was going to get from the other man for now, Frank turned around and squatted down, leaning his own back against the icy wood of the door in between them, against where he expected Gerard to be on the other side, childishly wishing for it to just vanish into thin air.  
He rubbed his palms together and let out a shaky breath, thoroughly regretting not having gotten a hot drink for himself, and began to talk.  
“You... you werenʼt just a job, Gerard. You were _never_ just a job...”, Frankʼs hands gripped the soft fabric of his black jeans, knuckles red and rough from the cold, as he remembered his words, his lies, “... I know you probably donʼt believe me right now and I have no right to expect you to, to expect anything of you, but please at least hear me out, yeah?”, he asked, begged rather, as he reached his left hand into the pocket of his jacket, nervously fumbling with the wrinkled piece of paper he had grabbed on his way to Mikeyʼs apartment. He had decided to take it with him on a hunch, hadnʼt really intended on using it, still not sure whether he was ready to let the other man in on his inner thoughts like that, whether either of them were.  
Yet he couldnʼt deny the steadily growing feeling in his gut that this piece of paper might be the only chance he had...  
There was a muffled sound on the other side of the door, a whisper, a grunt, Frank couldnʼt really tell, maybe he had imagined it altogether, but he chose to take it as encouragement to go on.  
  
  
“From the first fucking moment you came into my office, you were more than just a job to me, Gee... after all, you were Mikey Wayʼs brother – granted, in high school we all thought he had made you up or something, ‛cause you never came out of your cave in the basement, and Mikey had always been a little weird anyway...”, Frank shook his head fondly, an impish smile playing on his lips, a smile that grew even wider as he heard the chuckle his little trip down memory lane had earned him from Gerard.  
“Just for the record, personally, I have always preferred the theories about me being a vampire...”, the other man remarked dryly and for a moment, Frank almost felt like they were back in his office, chatting away about nothing and everything, as if they had known each other for their whole lives.  
“Why does that not surprise me at all?”, he taunted gently, biting his tongue to stop himself from reminding the other man of how the three of them had established that Gerard could never ever be a vampire, not with the insane amount of garlic he had been shoving into himself during their horror movie marathon a few weeks ago.  
Gerard had looked like a little kid who had been told that no, there was no Santa Clause, Middle-earth wasnʼt a real place, and they would most likely not grow up to be Batman, a princess, a Jedi, or a crime-fighting princess in space, all at the same time.  
Knowing Gerard, he probably still had problems coming to terms with the Jedi princess part, and Frank couldnʼt begin to describe how much that made him want to tie Gerard to his bed and never let him go. In a totally not creepy way.  
Frank could feel his mind drifting, so he shook his head and told himself to focus – this was neither the time nor the place to make a mental list about all the things he liked about Gerard. He would freeze to death before heʼd be done.  
  
  
“Look, um... I donʼt know how much Mikey has told you about the whole thing, but, man, he was desperate when he first came to see me. Iʼd never seen him like that – I mean, I made the decision to treat you right then and there, there was no way Iʼd let him down... So, what Iʼm saying is, even back then... it was more than just a job, you know?”, Frank trailed off, hoping Gerard would understand what he was getting at. He allowed himself to take a deep breath before he went on, teeth chattering as he hunched in on himself and buried his face deeper in his scarf to preserve as much body heat as he possibly could.  
“And then... well, then I got to know you, for real, and I started to like you – and trust me, Gee, I really, really fucking like you, and suddenly, you were even more than just Mikeyʼs brother, you became one of my best friends. A dorky, babbling, comic-obsessed crazy person, sure, but... one of the best friends Iʼve ever had...”, Frank teased, counting it as a win when Gerard hit his fist against the door in protest – he could tell that there was no real force behind it.  
  
  
“I guess thatʼs the point where I should have put a stop to it... Iʼm so sorry, Gerard, I – I know I should have given you Brianʼs number ages ago, and we could have stayed friends, but honestly? I was too selfish and too fucking stupid – I just... I didnʼt want to. I mean, all I knew was that ever since I picked you up from that bar, _I_ wanted to be your therapist, _I_ wanted to be the one to treat you – fuck, _I_ just wanted to be the one to help you get better so bad, I completely ignored everything Iʼd ever learned about psychotherapy... and, well, thatʼs when I realized...”, Frank gulped and took another deep breath, steeling himself for the long overdue confession he was about to make, “... thatʼs when I realized that you had also become more than just a friend to me...”, he finished, fingers still clutching onto the piece of paper in his hand, thoughts and memories running through his mind at a million miles per hour, a cacophony of apologies, accusations and regrets – and then Gerard started to speak, instantly silencing all those voices, and thatʼs when Frank made a decision.  
  
  
“Why didnʼt you tell me?”, was all the other man asked numbly, but Frank could clearly hear all silent questions Gerard didnʼt dare ask out loud.  
_Why didnʼt you tell me, why didnʼt you trust me... and why should I trust you?  
  
_  
Not hesitating for another second, he pulled the wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket and shoved it through the mail slot before he could think better of it – he was dimly aware that this might have been another bad choice to add to the ginormous pile of bad choices he had made, but Gerard had been nothing but honest with him about his feelings and it was about time Frank followed his own advice and repaid the favor.  
“What the...”, Frank heard Gerard mumble on the other side of the door as he unfolded the piece of paper Frank had carelessly pushed through the thin mail slot, “...if you came all this way to hand me a fucking Dear John letter, Frank, I swear to God...”, the other man threatened, but Frank could hear the genuine curiosity and the childlike excitement that was so utterly Gerard underneath the bravado.  
“Just start reading, dumbass...”, he said, leaning his head back against the cold door, smiling.  
  
  
By now, Frank had mulled it over in his head so often, he knew the words by heart – both the ones he had written weeks ago, and the ones he had added after Mikey had, verbally, beaten some sense into him.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“ **Way, Gerard Arthur (31)  
\- drug addiction, DPD, social anxiety, coffee addiction, vampirism, emotional manipulator, definitely no tattoo kink nope**  
  
_This is standard medical procedure. Shut up.  
  
__session #6 2008/12/3  
  
_ Waltzing into my office like he owns it, scrunching up his nose at my furniture and charming his way out of my plans for our session...  
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the unbelievable Mr. Gerard Way?  
And unbelievable, he is – unbelievably sassy, unbelievably odd, unbelievably irritating.  
  
_I know you're doing your “am NOT!” face right now, but pout all you want, I'm not taking this back._  
  
And yet I've never felt so drawn towards another person before.  
It's stupid and it's wrong and it's fucking _illegal_ , but right now I'm so far gone, there's nothing I can do about it.  
  
_But I won't be taking this back either_.  
  
Gerard got clean and sober in _17 days_.  
There were no symptoms left when I met him at the concert.  
None.  
I know he can't see it right now, but I believe that he is strong. Stronger than most people give him credit for, stronger than _he_ gives himself credit for.  
  
_Do you have any idea how frustrating you are for not seeing this?!_  
  
And no, that does not mean my work is done. It's not.  
Still far from it, to be honest, as we've only started scratching the surface, started unveiling the cause of his addiction, but I feel like I'm really getting somewhere. Like we are getting somewhere, together.  
And it's not all due to psychotherapeutic methods.  
Being there for him helps. He's said so himself and I've seen it. I've seen how much he's changed.  
I've seen him struggle.  
I've seen him fight.  
And I've seen him laugh.  
So, yeah, Gerard needs a therapist. But who says he doesn't need a friend, too? And who says I can't be both?”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
And then, at the very bottom, scribbled in his messy handwriting, the most important part, the one thought he hadnʼt dared voicing aloud back then.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_“ Fucking who says I can't be more? ”  
  
_

* * *

  
  
Patience had never been Frankʼs strong suit. He was drumming his fingers on his knees arrythmically, going over the words in his head over and over again, picturing Gerard, picturing his eyes going wide, and his lips trembling as he knew they would.  
He was about to recite the first line in his head for what felt like the millionth time when, fucking finally, the door opened.  
Frank flailed a little, since he had been leaning against it, but he quickly scrambled to his feet and brushed the dirt off his pants, heart stuttering, as he stared at an incredibly flushed Gerard, downcast eyes and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  
  
  
“Is this for real, Frank?”, Gerard bit his lip, vulnerable eyes looking up at Frank, and the mistrustful wariness in his voice still stung a little.  
“Yes – fucking yes, Gee...”, Frank nodded his head emphatically, and his stomach did a little flip when a lopsided smile started playing at the corners of the other manʼs mouth. It was tiny, but it was there.  
“This...”, _us_ , he wanted to say, but he was still too scared to, and instead went for gesticulating wildly in between their chests like the total moron he was, “...this might be the worst idea Iʼve ever had – hell, Iʼm pretty sure it is the fucking worst idea Iʼve ever had! I know that. But I also know that I donʼt care. Trust me, Gee, I donʼt fucking care!”, he beamed at Gerard, throwing his hands up in the air, no doubt looking like a lunatic, and went on without coming up for air.  
  
  
“And I wish I could be rational about this...”, he continued, voice a little calmer now, as he stepped through the door into the room, towards Gerard, “... or maybe I donʼt, I donʼt know, but the truth is...”, he took another deep breath and reached out to take Gerardʼs warm hands into his ice-cold ones, “...Iʼm sorry, but I think I fell in love that night. At the bar. I didnʼt mean to, I promised myself I wouldnʼt, but I did. Didnʼt you?”, Frank asked shyly, and Gerard scrunched up his nose a little.  
  
  
“Well, I think I was a little too drunk to fall anywhere except on my face that night, but if you insist...”, he replied and Frank let go of his hands to punch his arm playfully.  
“Shut up, weʼre having a moment here!”, he laughed out loud, secretly relieved that Gerard interrupted his awkward confession, but not willing to let him off the hook just yet.  
“You know, Iʼm a doctor, and compulsive mood-killing is an early symptom of a severe case of social retardedness...”, he diagnosed, scared for a split second that his comment was too mean, that it was still too early to make jokes like that, but Gerard just grinned back.  
“Is that so? Well, in that case, although I highly doubt that social quote unquote _retardedness_ is a morally appropriate medical term, Dr. Iero, Iʼve heard of that... thing. That thing called, uh, therapeutic... kissing... therapy. With tongue!”, Gerard exclaimed, index finger raised as though he was referring to cognitive scienceʼs latest findings.  
“Therapeutic kissing therapy?”, Frank repeated flatly, fighting hard not to burst into laughter at Gerardʼs ridiculously dorky attempt at seducing him.  
“Yes. Now treat me!”, Gerard dead-panned, face falling a little when Frank shook his head in response, opening his mouth in protest, but the other man beat him to it.  
  
  
“No, Gee – Iʼm not here as your therapist...”, he whispered, and leaned in to kiss him anyway.  
  
  
  
_fin_


End file.
